


Favours

by Teland



Series: you and I will walk together again [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Bondage, Breathplay, Chance Meetings, Consent Play, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dogboys & Doggirls, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Kink Negotiation, Knotting, Lactation, M/M, Magic, Massage, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Multi, Name-Calling, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Pre-Series, Pseudo-Incest, Rimming, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Sleep Molestation, Sounding, Threesome - M/M/M, Torture, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6010581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One thing. One thing only," Jason says, and raises one long finger. "While our brothers sometimes need our strength, and our power, and, yes, our *absolute* control... I have found, time and time again, that our brothers — our *lovers* — need our *weaknesses* even more than that. Or, perhaps, our 'weaknesses'. They — we — need to know that we are needed. We need to know that we are desired. We need to know that you will reach for *us* when times are difficult — or when they are simply lonely. We need to know that we are yearned for, and ached for, and loved."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. But why did it have to be FRANCE?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/gifts), [the_Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Jack/gifts).



> Disclaimers: Not mine, except for what is. 
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: AU-ized mentions of various storylines. Takes place pre-series. 
> 
> Author's Note: Pixie's bunny and inspiration, Jack's kink-prompt, and suddenly I'm writing crossovers again for the first time in, like, a decade. WHO KNEW. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Much, much love to my little Pixie, as well as to Melly, Houndstar, Spice, Nonie, Greyandgold, and, of course, my Jack, all of whom provided much-needed audiencing, encouragement, hand-holding, useful suggestions, and/or cheerleading. *MWAH*
> 
> Big hearts to Sergei for helping me with my French! YAY!

He wants to live. 

He *still* wants to live. 

He wants to live despite the fact that he no longer remembers everything about the languages he grew up speaking, despite the fact that he's permanently attached to a particularly stroppy and vindictive demon *while* he lives, despite the fact that everyone he's ever loved — or even liked — is *dust* —

He wants to live. 

The thought is so hilarious that Jason wheezes out laughter for — 

Well, he doesn't know how long, precisely. These things grow difficult to measure when one has lost as much blood — and energy, and power, and *life* — as he has. 

He wants to *live* —

But he's dying. 

He's dying, in a field, in fucking *France* — to add insult to his *multiple* injuries — and, really...

He has exactly one chance, at this point: He can expend a significant fraction of his remaining energy to call for *help* — 

And then lie here helpless until he either dies much sooner than he otherwise *would* have, or is made subject to the tender mercies of whoever finds him first. 

Bloody wonderful. 

But... 

He gathers his guttering energies just the same. 

It feels like pulling on his own *tendons* — 

It feels like *raking* at his own raw *flesh* — 

He does it. 

He does it, using the death throes of the decidedly out-of-place Jarka demons scattered around him to augment things just a *bit* — 

And then he sends out his call. 

And then... he closes his eyes. 

Just for a moment. 

Or perhaps —


	2. They've both got some mysteries to untangle.

There's a sluggish and *bitter* beat within him, like drums played by the pained. 

There's a brackish taste in his mouth — 

There are ashes in his *eyelashes* — oh, yes, he's in the process of dying. 

But, more to the point, *Etrigan* is *also* in the process of dying inside of him — 

_We'll walk the grey lands together, Blood._

Yes, yes, but *first* — we have a visitor. 

_They'll surely dispatch us —_

Shut it, it's time for us to be *charming*. 

_Have you suddenly learned how?_

Jason ignores Etrigan and — 

Well, there's no pulling himself together. 

His left leg is broken and bent in a fascinating way. 

He can't *feel* either of his arms anymore.

He's *reasonably* sure he's pissed himself at least once. 

But. 

But. 

His visitor... is an earth-mage. 

He'd know that by the way the man's nostrils flare as he crests the ridge of the crater Jason's left for himself, even if he couldn't *feel* it. 

The scars Jason — and the Jarkas — have left on the All-Mother must be *screaming* to the man. Which is *problematic*, and may make him more inclined to dispatch Jason at speed and *painfully* — 

But. 

He's not going out without a fight — of some kind. 

Etrigan laughs inside of him. 

The man — who is dressed rather *curiously* richly for an earth-mage — comes closer. 

He moves easily and well over the rough terrain, and he also moves cautiously. He obviously hasn't yet *seen* Jason's broken-but-*living* body amidst all the other bodies, but he equally-obviously knows there *is* something alive down here. And — 

He pauses, some ten yards away. 

Lifts his nose. 

Growls like a very big, very mean-spirited dog, eyes flaring a hot blue. 

Well, then. That answers more than a few questions. The man is a shifter — one of those with all the strengths and weaknesses that come from being one's own familiar. 

There's also something not *quite* entirely earth-y about him, something that calls to Jason's *blood* — 

But, well, they're looking directly *at* each other now, and —

It's time. 

Jason tries a smile. "Hail and well met. I am —" 

"Somewhere you *decidedly* don't belong," the man says, and scans their perimeter — "Where are your friends." 

Well. "Dead." 

"Where."

"*Mostly* across the Channel. Mostly," Jason says, and smiles wryly.

Another nostril-flare — "Allies?" 

"None —" 

"You *don't* want to lie to me." 

"Ah. Well. I suppose I do consider the demon possessing one half of my soul an ally, at this late date. He's dying, too, though." 

That gets him a grunt from the man, who narrows his pale blue eyes and studies him for a long moment. 

Jason studies him right back. Rich clothes that only look richer from this close. Education in his speech, for all the gruffness. At least *most* of his teeth. Well-fed and healthy even beyond his magical vitality. 

Attractive — and attractively entitled — in a brusque and martial sort of way. 

Jason has, somehow, stumbled over magical *gentry*. 

"Why would someone allied with demons choose to *fight* them," the man says. 

Jason has not yet earned another question mark. And that... Jason smiles ruefully. "I didn't choose my alliance with Etrigan, and he didn't choose his alliance with me. I have always done my best to fight for the right... and there are more than enough demons Etrigan loathes just as much as I do, and who loathe him just as much as they loathe *me*." 

Another nostril flare.

A pause. 

"Why are you alive?" 

"That's... a rather longer story than I have time for —" 

"Short version." 

"I'm functionally, but not completely, immortal. This is, in part, due to the ritual that bound me to Etrigan in the first place." 

This time, the man narrows his eyes so much it's a wonder he can see. "What sort of magic — no. What do you need?" 

"Pardon?" 

"How can I *help*." 

"I... you don't want more information first?" 

The man raises an eyebrow. "I can smell what I need to. You can go ahead and give me your name now, though," the man says, and quirks a rather wicked smile. It shaves ten years off Jason's initial estimation of his age. 

This is a man — a *young* man — who has lived hard. "Jason Blood, at your service." 

The man flourishes with a nonexistent cape and hat. "Lieutenant Jean-Armand du Peyrer de Tréville, of the King's Musketeers. If you call me *more* than just Treville or Lieutenant, I'll leave you in this crater. Though I might take your arm with me. Were you aware that it's ten feet away from you?" 

Well. "That *would* explain why I can't feel it." 

Treville grunts. "Let's get you taken care of — as much as is possible —"

"I — need your blood." 

"Yes? Just that? I can smell other sorts of magery on you, Blood." 

"There's nothing 'just' about blood to one such as me, Lieutenant. It is my stock in trade, and it is my power —" 

Treville waves a hand — and pulls a dagger. "You'll need a fair amount, yes?" 

And this — 

*This* — 

"I've... heard of the King's Musketeers." 

"You damned well better have." 

"The bravest. The best. The boldest. The most... honourable." 

"Well, to a certain extent," Treville says, and *looks* at Jason. "We're *soldiers*, not nuns." 

"Lieutenant. I..." 

"What is it?" 

_Do you honestly mean to try to *stop* him? Fool, he's going to *save* us!_

"Lieutenant. *Treville*. If you do this thing, with me, we will be *kin*." 

Treville raises an eyebrow again. "I am *aware* of the fundamental mechanisms of blood magic, Jason." 

And, for that, he gets his first name?

He studies Treville for long moments — 

He ignores Etrigan's *shouting* — 

He — squeezes his eyes shut and laughs wryly. 

"Jason?" 

"Earth-mages... you always *think* you know everything there is to know about blood magic. It's a peculiar trait of your breed," he says, and opens his eyes again. *Looks* at Treville. Begs him, however silently, to think about what he's *doing*. 

Instead, Treville barks a laugh and slashes his wrist, just wide enough for Jason's mouth. He holds the blood to keep it from spilling — from *wasting* — with an easy expenditure of his own power — 

He brings the arm to Jason's *lips*, jerking once for the feel of Jason's corruption, but not *hesitating* — 

"Drink. You're going to pay me for this, Jason." 

More than you know...

"You're going to *teach* me what I *don't* know about... what I don't know," he says, and barks another laugh. "You're going to make me *stronger*." 

More. Than. You. *Know*.

"What was that?"

But the blood has him now, has both of them — 

The blood and the *fever* for the blood, the need for it, the *power* that was Jason's from birth, and Jason's mother's before him, and her mother before her. 

The power that was simply waiting to be... stoked. 

Fed. 

Paid *court* to, and Jason's healings have never been pleasant, and the *last* thing he wants to do is sweep an innocent bystander *up* in one of them, but — 

He needs that arm *attached* — 

Every sinew and fragment of bone — 

He needs *that* arm wrenched *round* the proper way again — 

And the power is slamming through both of them now, binding them together with invisible, unbreakable *cord* — 

His mothers before him will not *let* Treville get away from him until Jason is *well*, and Treville is growling, straining — 

Though not to get away. 

Treville is straining to *endure* the furies of healing, the *twists* of bone and muscle and, yes, the parts of Jason that are even now trying to *draw* on Treville to feed his other powers. 

That won't do. 

He's healed *enough* — and Treville is contaminated right down to the deepest parts of his soul. 

Jason pulls back and stands, using some of his borrowed power to heal the slash on Treville's arm while the man recovers himself — 

He's panting and growling and *shuddering* on his *knees* — 

And he smells... perfect. 

Wonderful. 

*Kin* — 

And rather more than that. 

The question is when *Treville* will recognize that and demand — 

"What. What did you. What *am* I?" And he stares at his own hands as if they're unfamiliar to him. 

As if his own touch is... different. Well. 

It would be. 

No one would feel the difference *more* than an earth-mage, for all that there's only so much corruption Jason can *share*. Only another mage would be able to feel the corruption in Treville, while, truly, anyone at all can feel it in Jason. And...

Jason gives in to his baser urges and cups Treville's shoulder, which his loose shirt has left bared in the process of being yanked to the side. Warm skin, not *significantly* cooler than his own. Human and not. Kin and... kin. And, of course, the simple strength of a soldier.

The simple, muscular beauty...

"*Jason*." 

And, perhaps, he can do his aesthetic appreciation on his own time — 

"I would *appreciate* — ah, fuck, I thought I was *accustomed* to this!" 

Voices in your mind that were not your own? 

(*Yes*. I have... brothers...) 

Whom you bound...? And Jason makes *sure* that eyebrow raise is in his voice. 

(Not on bloody *purpose* —) Treville growls and staggers to his feet, brushing himself off — 

The knees of his trousers are hopelessly stained with eldritch blood — hm. "You're going to want to burn those." 

"I figured — I — what's *wrong* with me? I feel... inhuman. More inhuman. And healthier than I should." 

Jason smiles ruefully. "You chose to sacrifice yourself for a stranger. You chose to make a *blood* sacrifice that could have very well ended in your death. You did this in a place of magic —" 

"I —" 

"The All-Mother — *your* Mother — is scarred here. Her power is all around us, as I'm sure you can discern." 

Treville grunts bad-naturedly. "You're about to say something about *balance*, aren't you. About — what the bloody hell did you *give* me? You didn't have any-bloody-thing *left*!" 

Jason — reaches out.

"What *is* it? Spit it out, man!" 

Jason drops his hand before he can touch Treville's face. "I had *one* thing left, Treville, and that is my immortality —" 

"No." 

"I'm afraid —" 

"No, you —" 

"— that you —" 

"No, you bloody —" 

"Treville, you *can* still be *killed*! You've *seen* that!" 

Treville snarls like a hound braced by wolves. 

"It's not — it's not *gaol*." 

"I can't die a sodding natural *death*!" 

"There's *nothing* natural about death!" And that had come out — shouted. Spat. *Snarled*. 

But Treville doesn't rear back or attack. His eyes widen for a moment — and then he seems to be looking at something absolutely terrible in his *recent* past. 

He — 

He turns away — but not before he shares a flash of a dark-skinned woman, dead on the floor of some tenement or another. 

She might have been beautiful once, but a death-mage had been at her — 

And there are signs that there had been a child living in the tenement, as well.

There's no small body, but Jason knows that that's nothing to be hopeful about. The death-mage in question might've just taken the child *with* them — 

"That's. What I fear," Treville says, and much of the fire has gone out of him. The life, the light, the hope — 

Jason takes a breath. "Let me help." 

"What can you do?" 

"Track down the death-mage in question —" 

"I already know his name — Guillou —" 

"Perfect. I will teach you how to make him scream for a thousand years." 

Treville's eyes flare that *hot* blue — 

He tenses with a *remarkably* violent energy — 

"Will you, now." 

"It would be my pleasure, I *assure* you." 

"What do you need —" 

"Hm. Your knife, a very large fireplace... we can work out the rest when I've regained a bit more strength — and I've strengthened you." 

Treville studies him with narrowed eyes again, reaching to touch the fragmentary remains of what *had* been a perfectly wonderful suit of mail. The coif is intact, but the rest... 

Is glittery, half-melted fragments on the ground. 

"I didn't bring a horse," Treville says, at last. "It didn't seem right to risk an innocent animal —" 

"Of course not," Jason says, and grins. "We'll have ourselves a nice walk to... your manor, is it?" 

Treville grunts and hands him the knife. "This *used* to be some of the only *arable* land on my properties." 

"Well." Jason licks his lips and studies the crater as he cuts a few thigh-bones free — always best for long-term burning, and the renewal of his fire-powers.

_Glad you're thinking of me again._

Do shut up. 

_What will you do when this one betrays us? How will you *feel*._

Did I say shut up? I meant go drown yourself in some Holy water — 

"Jason?" 

Jason considers lying — 

Considers pretending to a weakness he doesn't feel to cover his *distraction* — 

"My demonic guest was being an arse. He does that. Terribly sorry —" 

"Is he going to be a problem?" 

"No," Jason says, and hefts the thigh-bones over his shoulders — they're each nearly the height of a man — and raises his eyebrows. "We've both grown out of warring on each other for the sake of it." 

Treville raises *his* eyebrows — and then shakes his head and nods toward the east. And then pauses. 

"Yes?" 

"Can you glamour yourself?" 

"Not well enough to hide from other mages at the moment — ah, yes, the nudity problem. I take it your retainers aren't accustomed to dealing with... oddities?" 

Treville snorts. "They're *more* than accustomed to dealing with filthy, gore-streaked, naked men running about at all hours, Jason —" 

"*Really*." 

"— but." 

"Hmm? Oh, the bones. I... hm." Jason concentrates — 

It feels a bit like trying to braid *water*, at first, but — 

But — 

Treville's blood is strong. 

And so is he. 

He glams himself to look as though he's dressed similarly to Treville; discards the last of the mail to make things a little easier; washes his hair with rough, magical efficiency — 

For some reason, that gets a noise from Treville — 

And, finally, he makes it look as though he simply has a large pack on his back. "Better?" 

"You're a handsome man," Treville says, with a smile that's wry... and something of a weapon aimed at himself.

That won't do. "Flatterer," Jason says, and *tosses* his excessively long hair. "You're simply overcome by my delicate perfume of hellfire, brimstone, and *offal*."

Treville barks a laugh, delighted and very sharp — "I'm a simple man with a simple tastes, Jason." 

"I like that —" 

"Let's go." 

They do just that. 

There are a truly large number of stones dug into the soil of this land — 

It's also *egregiously* hilly for farming — 

The forest is deeply overgrown and — 

"No, I haven't spent much time or effort developing my lands, since you ask," Treville says. 

"I didn't —" 

"You did. Pointedly, even." 

Earth-mages are always *aware* of undercurrents. He must remember that. "So I did — in a way. But...?" 

"Mm? Oh. Do I ask my non-magically-enhanced friends to be this punctilious about their unspoken commentary?" 

"In a word? Yes." 

"My friends — my brothers — are constitutionally incapable of keeping their fat mouths shut. About *anything*." 

Jason nods thoughtfully. "That's *why* they're your brothers." 

"One of many reasons. You — did you lose your friends to those monsters?" 

Jason blinks. But — he *had* admitted that all of *his* friends were dead. "No, Treville. My friends died long ago, as these things go." 

A raised eyebrow. 

Jason smiles ruefully. "I'm over six hundred years old, I spend nearly all my time either studying magical theory or warring on demons, I'm possessed *by* a demon, and I'm not very nice — as these things go. Friends are hard to come by, and harder to keep." 

"Six *hundred* — bloody hell." 

"Mm. Literally, even." 

Treville snorts. "And you're warning me away from you." 

"Pardon?" 

"You've been warning me away from you since you were in pieces on the ground. All this talk of hellfire and demons —" Treville shakes his head. "You don't want friends. Why is that?" 

"You want a new friend. Why is *that*?" 

"And now you're bristling," Treville says, and flashes his sharpest teeth. "That's all right. We can leave that be for now." 

Jason grunts. "You do realize that I *corrupted* you —" 

"Tainted my soul, did you?" 

"*Yes*." 

"You're six hundred years old, Jason. The oldest witches of my acquaintance died before they reached one hundred thirty —" 

"I —" 

"— but they taught me a rather a good bit about why a *smart* man just might want to avoid the traditional — as these things go — religious paths." 

Jason takes a breath — 

Pauses — 

*Pauses* — "Did they." 

"They were — and the ones I know still living *are* — Yoruba. Irreverent as all get-out. Chances are, they're not going to be too thrilled about what *you* did to me — I'm *their* tool — but... they don't hold much truck with Christianity." 

"Good!" 

"I thought you might have something like that to say." 

"And how did you get to be their *tool*?" 

"Don't — ask that question." 

The dark-skinned woman is large in his mind, only now she's young and beautiful — and big with child. Her laughter is raucous and — 

And Treville tucks her away again. "Her name was Amina." 

"And she was your queen?" 

A grunt. "Greater than that. My sister." 

"You lead a fascinating life for French gentry, Treville." 

That brings the sharp smile back. "I will *always* be a soldier *first*." 

"And yet you choose to be called by —" 

Treville waves a hand. "Convenience and necessity. I would've taken a new name like my brothers when Henri gave me my commission, if it had been allowed. As it was... Treville is at least better than *Jean-Armand*." 

He thinks of the woman — Amina — again — 

He thinks of her calling him that to *tease* him — 

To *skewer* him — 

"There are exceptions to every rule," he says, and does nothing about the few tears that roll down his cheeks. 

For all that the death-mage would've needed *time* to do *that* to Amina, she had died recently. 

For some reason, Treville hadn't been able to get to her... no. Jason resists the lure of the mystery of it for the moment. "There are no words for loss. No good ones." 

"I liked the ones about making Guillou scream for a thousand years. I liked those a *lot*." 

Jason laughs helplessly. "Well. I've a few more of *those*..." 

"I thought you might. Have you truly been warring for six *hundred* years?" 

"What else am I supposed to do with myself?" 

Treville blinks into the rising sun and seems to devote real thought to the question. 

Jason leaves him to it and continues walking over the countless stones. Honestly, he usually doesn't *mind* being naked — even on far rougher terrain than this — but, at the moment, he has to admit that he's feeling somewhat more delicate than usual. 

"We're almost there." 

"I'm well —" 

Treville snorts. Obnoxiously. 

Jason sighs. "Fine. I *hurt*. I'll feel much better once we can set these — and me — ablaze." 

"... what?"

Jason laughs low. "I'm a fire-mage, too — thanks to my guest. That's why my clothes and mail were all charred and melted —" 

"But you *weren't*. Yes, I see. Hm. You're terrifying." 

"I was wondering when you'd notice." 

"I've taken a lot of blows to the head over the years, Jason —" 

"And a lot of strong drink?" 

"And a *lot* of strong drink —" 

"Which led to still more blows to the head?" 

"And, when I was lucky —" 

"Other sorts of... blows, entirely?" 

Treville's grin is savagely happy. "I like you. I bet you started soldiering before you even knew what a cunny smelled like." 

"Well, I was *nine* when I was squired to Ser Darwyn of King Arthur's Round Table —" 

"You — what — " 

"— so —" 

"Wait a minute —" 

Jason lets himself laugh *richly*. "It *is* nice to hear the old names sung through the ages. Though the stories are completely incomprehensible to me, at this point —" 

"I." 

"Mm? Arthur was a *very* good man, but his idea of being a good *Christian* was to let the monks — most of whom wenched as much as *we* did — tag along and attempt to convert us when we were too puking sick with drink or fever to run away." 

"Hm. That does sound more believable." 

"Doesn't it, though? Arthur wouldn't have gotten any traction, at all, with most of the lords if he *really* pushed for a religion most people considered painfully foreign and — if you'll pardon the phrase — bloodless." 

"And you were... open about your powers?" 

Jason snorts. "I certainly was. They made me *popular* — for a time. Merlin was shite at healing, you see. Even when I was a *naturally* beardless boy, I could help men who might have otherwise died. And no one suffered blood-sickness who felt *my* touch." 

"*About* your healing," Treville says, and then doesn't say anything else. 

For several paces. 

For — 

"Mm...?" 

"No, I'm not asking. That felt like being *beaten* by the *spheres*." 

Jason laughs *hard*. "Really just by my ancestors. My mothers before me get stroppy when I let myself get hurt." 

"Is *that* how your healing works?" 

Well... Jason smiles ruefully. "Yes and no. My mother and grandmother *twisted* things so that I might be born male instead of female — and thus be able to make the great changes that they saw before them... well, that's a long and rather ugly story. In any event, things that other blood mages can do with relative ease and comfort for themselves and others — like healings — are much more complicated and *wrenching* for me." 

Treville strokes and scratches at his trim little beard. "When my powers were augmented to make me into this — you can tell, presumably, that I wasn't always...?" 

Jason blinks — but. 

"You couldn't tell?" 

"I'm dreadfully embarrassed now. I would normally have been able to tell... hm." He studies Treville hard. "You weren't always a shifter." 

"No, I was not. Nor did I have enough power to *notice* I had power, at all." 

"*Really* — what on *earth* did your Yoruba witches *do* — but I'm not asking." 

"But you're curious," Treville says, and smiles wryly, taking them over yet another rocky ridge. 

"It's only that when I've come across witches who've had their powers augmented in one way or another, it's *always* a wrenched and twisted and *uncomfortable* affair. There are always... scars." And Jason manfully attempts to keep his eyebrows down. 

Both of them. 

All the way. 

"Hm. I wouldn't call what I have *scarring*, but..." 

"You're a shifter. There's at least *some* part of you that's not entirely human in appearance, and, being as how you're an earth-mage... well. How big *is* your knot?" 

"Did you want to get personally acquainted with it?" 

Jason snorts and grins. "Are you *offering*, cher...?" 

"Not — don't call me that." 

"Is my accent too terrible? I apologize *profusely*." He knows — knows — that that isn't the problem, but — 

"One... of my brothers calls me that. Habitually." 

"Ah." You'd like him to be more than a brother. 

"There's nothing *more* —" Treville growls and looks away. 

And says nothing — 

Well. 

"When one wishes to make a man — a mage — scream for a thousand years..." 

Treville perks up immediately — 

Jason... likes him. 

A lot. 

*Damn* it — but. He clears his throat.

He ignores Etrigan's *mocking* laughter — 

"How would you like to — nearly — guarantee that you never lose another swordfight again?"

Treville blinks. "I thought we were going to talk about screaming?" 

"Oh, we *are*, Treville. As an example — well, as a *bad* example — the weapons and armour I left destroyed in that crater had within them enemies whom I'd been causing to suffer *vast* torments for *centuries*. Had I not been so weakened in other ways — and so greatly outmanned and outgunned... well. There's a reason why I owe remarkably few people as many favours as I owe *you*." 

Treville *grunts*. "How many is a few?" 

"None. None but you." 

"And yet you go up against *that* kind of enemy —" 

"All the time." 

"Do you have luck charms about you, too?" 

"I find that possessed arms and armour are all the luck a well-*trained* man *truly* needs, Treville — most of the time." 

A thoughtful hum. "How do you keep your enemies from turning your weapons against you?"

"Break them first. Break them *utterly*," Jason says, and smiles. "And then, while they are *reeling* with their subordination, while they are weeping and *begging* to serve?" 

"Bind them." 

"*Just* so. It's not so hard, ultimately. I'll be able to show you while I'm strengthening myself." 

"Where does the screaming come in, precisely? I was bound to my Amina-love — there was no pain in anything but her loss." 

"You *earth*-mages," Jason says, and laughs darkly. "Not all collars are *smooth* on the inside." 

Treville grunts — and looks at him. 

Jason winks. 

"And you can make people beg for — no, what am I saying. I *fully* intend to torture him until he's ready to beg for anything at *all* to make me stop — and you'll truly be able to help me find him?" 

"*Oh*, yes. You *do* have something belonging to one of his recent victims, yes?" 

"Many — I have — yes," Treville says, and he's losing himself again — 

"He will *hurt*, Treville. Long after he tells you where the child is." 

"My... my boy..." 

Oh. "Your... son?"

Treville starts to shake his head — "Not. I didn't. Amina and I never made love. Not." 

"But you were bound to her... while the child was in her womb?" 

Treville nods. 

"By choice?" 

"Eager — I would've done anything for her, for. I wanted her children for my own and I —" 

Treville snarls — 

Pants — 

Howls loud and dark and *mournful* — 

The woods go *sharply* silent around them... and Jason would wager that this isn't the first time all the little animals — and bigger ones — have heard that sound just lately. 

He sets the bones down. 

He — 

He *grips* Treville's shoulder — 

Holds *tight* while the man howls and howls and — lets himself go. 

In, perhaps, a way he couldn't do with his brothers? 

How *did* they feel about their noble brother being bound to an immigrant?

Or was she?

And how much do Treville's brothers *know* about the numinous world? 

How much do they *care* to know?

_Are you looking to protect your new friend, Blood?_

Shut it — 

_Or are you looking for ways to extricate him from the people who might wish to extricate him from *you*?_

Etrigan is never, ever more *irritating* than when he makes cogent points. 

_You're welcome._

In the end, Jason knows nothing but the barest hints of this — this *awful* grief. 

He doesn't know Amina's last name. 

He doesn't know if French Musketeers are a better quality of man than British knights — who, when you got right down to it, were rarely above a bit of raping and pillage if the nights were balmy *and* boring enough.

He doesn't know if Treville ever got the chance to *hold* his boy.

He doesn't know — 

And then, in their minds, is a shared memory of Amina and Treville in a big, rich bed together, the infant — he now knows the boy has the curious name of Porthos — between them. 

They are laughing together, Porthos staring up with wide, curious, wondering eyes — 

Reaching up with chubby fists for the colorful ragdoll his parents — his *parents* — are making dance between them. 

Amina looks at Treville with love and happiness and joy — 

("Look, my brother, he's reaching for you!"

"Well, he knows who *really* loves him —" 

"Excuse me!" 

"*I* never would've forced him out into this cold, cruel world after only nine and a half months —") 

Amina splutters — 

All over the babe's *face* — 

And Porthos begins to cry with lusty, piercing annoyance — 

("That's done it, Amina-love. He'll *never* forgive you —" 

"I should shove *you* up there!" 

"Head-first?"") 

And Treville lolls his tongue — 

Amina *splutters* more — 

("Now, Amina-love, I know Porthos needs a wash, but —") 

She makes a curious hooting noise — 

And Treville tugs them both away from his memories. 

Tugs them — he's no longer shaking or howling, though his face is wet, and his eyes are reddened and raw-looking. 

"If I may ask..." 

"Mm?" Treville doesn't look at him. 

"Will Porthos's blood-father be joining —" 

"I strung him up with his own intestines years ago, Jason," Treville says, spits, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Jason blinks. "... literally?" 

"Yes. Not long after I found out it was him who'd hired a mad assassin to kill Amina and Porthos — and sent them into hiding before I could do anything to protect them. It was an effort to keep him alive long enough to appreciate *my* efforts —" 

"But you were more than willing to put that time in. Yes, I believe I see." 

"Great striving brings great rewards, Jason. Let's go." 

They do.


	3. Why she disappeared.

When Treville completely failed to go to bed last night, he hadn't expected to start today with a naked man in his fireplace. 

He had, of course, had that fantasy about the as-yet-faceless Guillou — 

Multiple *times* — 

Still. 

*This* man has only an average number of scars for a soldier apparently in his twenties — and no apparent *wounds* — 

And is — an ally. 

Despite being — but that's a question, isn't it. Treville looks up from studying the long, nasty-looking scar on Jason's left shoulder — 

His long, dark-red hair is *dancing* in the flames — 

It's — 

He looks like he's *bathing* in the fire. Like a man in a bloody *hot* spring. Like — 

No. 

Ask a question. "Do you still consider yourself — a Briton?" 

Jason hums. It's an *interestingly* ominous sound under the roar of the flames, and, when he opens his eyes, the fire seems to be behind them. "Are you asking me if *I'm* a King's man?" 

"I'm not *that* big a fool, Jason, despite my looks," Treville says, and crosses his arms over his chest. "But I want to know more about the man who's going to fight at my side." 

Jason inclines his head. "I will always be a Briton... but I define that rather differently than my countrymen do, I think." 

"You define it the way it was defined six hundred years ago." 

"Perhaps four hundred or so. I've not *utterly* stagnated — and I *have* traveled." 

"Obviously." 

Jason inclines his head. "Do you speak...?" 

"A few other languages. I could butcher English if you'd like." 

Jason purses his lips. "You're *gentry*. I'd think you'd do better —" 

"My father wasn't raised gentry — he came up through the ranks hating the British along with every other man in his regiment," Treville says, and smiles at the memory of the man's *numerous* rants about being forced to pin his cock back for Court — 

"Ah. He was raised for his *prowess*." 

"That he was. He was a brilliant tactician — and a godawful politician." 

Jason cocks his head to the side, hair continuing to dance around his head. 

"Yes?" 

"I'm trying to decide what sort of politician you are." 

"You can't tell?" 

"No. I can't," Jason says. 

"That may be the most terrifying thing you've said yet." 

Jason grins. "I... apologize?" 

Treville snorts. "Liar." 

"You know perfectly well that you're better at playing the game — all of the games — than your father was. Don't you." 

Treville takes a breath — "It was my goal to stand as a bulwark between him and his enemies, when I was old enough." 

"He didn't survive that long." 

"No, he didn't. But it was an ague that took him, at least. None of his enemies got the satisfaction of creeping up on him." 

"Are you living the life he wanted you to live?" 

"Yes. *Precisely* the life he wanted me to live... though I'm missing the wife." 

"Will you continue to do so?" 

Treville knows he looks — hollow. 

He is. 

He is. "Yes."

Jason inhales sharply — "Ask me another question. Go ahead and make it *egregiously* personal, if you'd like —" 

"Why isn't your name sung with the rest?" 

"Oh — fuck," Jason says, and laughs loud and painfully.

"Well, that sounds positively *fascinating*..." 

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose and groans. "May I give you the short version?" 

"Go ahead." 

"I got smacked in the face with a spiked flail in a *highly* public manner and *seemed* to die. When I regained consciousness, I did the healing of a *lifetime* on myself using the death-energies of the horrifically-wounded men around me, leaving myself hale and fit save for this rakish little bump on my nose. 

"I then went to rejoin Arthur's men, who had *all* heard that I was dead —" 

"Oh — shit —" 

"Yes," Jason says, and drops his hand. "It was ugly. I had to talk my way out of being beaten to death, then stabbed, then drowned, then burnt — just to be sure that the *revenant* was well and truly dispatched. Then *Merlin* had to do the talking, which I resented beyond *language*, because he was a pretentious *arsehole* — but that's another story." 

Treville raises an eyebrow. "Would you prefer telling that one to this one?" 

Jason bares his teeth. "He taught me to read. He taught me to — look beyond myself and the small magics my mother and my mother's mothers had been doing for generations. He taught me how to *survive* in the worlds that I had opened for myself..." 

"You'll never forgive him for that." 

"No. No, I won't. Not least because —" Jason laughs painfully. "But I don't know what it would've cost the man, at that point, to extend a hand of *friendship* to the broken boy I was, now do I?" 

Treville snarls. "Don't forgive an arsehole for being an arsehole." 

"I've been an arsehole, Treville. I've been... low. Small. Weak." 

"Have you?" 

"Yes," Jason says, and steps out of the fire. His hair settles... slowly. "If you would unlace your shirt?" 

Treville raises an eyebrow — but he does it. 

"This is going to be somewhat awful, and I apologize for it, but it will be *less* awful than the earlier healing, and it will speed us on our way —" 

"Do it." 

And Jason *slaps* his right palm against Treville's breastbone — 

Treville gasps — 

Burns — 

*Burns* — 

"Don't scream. It's almost over."

"What what —" 

"A bit of my — and Etrigan's — vitality to replace what you've lost... there," he says, and pulls back — 

Treville staggers — 

It feels like Jason was the only thing holding him up — 

It feels like the world is made of *ice* — 

He's shuddering, teeth chattering and — 

The temperature-change has made him need to bloody piss — 

"It's safe to do that in the fire now," Jason says, glamouring himself *impressively* convincingly — "And it will help regulate your body temperature." 

"*Fuck* — I —" Treville shakes himself and unlaces his trousers and breeches — 

Jason moves up beside him *shamelessly* — 

Peers over *ostentatiously* — 

Licks his lips even *more* ostentatiously —

Treville shudders again and snorts. "You're an arse." 

"Very true. Very, very — where was I?" 

Treville lets fly, not at all surprised that *this* fire shows no ill-effects from his contributions. "You *being* an arse." 

"Ah, yes. I try to be more open-minded, now that I've spent an extended period of time being a worthless excuse for... well. *Not* humanity." 

"Hm." 

"Yes?" 

"Do you?" 

Jason snorts. "Not in the slightest. It *burns* that I was never powerful enough to beat the living *shit* out of Merlin while the man was alive." 

"That's what I *thought* —" 

"But." 

"Yes?" And Treville shakes himself off and tucks himself away — 

"Were you that impressive *before*...?" 

Treville grins. "No. But almost," he says, and turns to face Jason again. "What were you actually going to say?" 

Jason smiles ruefully. "Nothing pleasant." 

"It's true that there's nothing more pleasant in this room than my doggy prick —" 

Jason snorts —

Treville jerks his chin at the man. "Come, they'll have breakfast for us in the study by now —" 

"I..." 

"Mm?" 

"I only eat meat." 

"Well, I stole my cook from the garrison, and he only knows how to cook beef, bacon, deer, turnips, mushrooms, and potatoes —" 

Jason snorts again — "*Treville* —" 

"Carrots when he's feeling *fancy* —" 

Jason *coughs* — 

"I'm sure we can find *something* for you," Treville says, clapping Jason's shoulder and tugging him along. 

Jason gives him a quirked smile — and allows himself to be tugged. 

When they're seated, Jason at his right, and there's a slab of roast beast on Jason's plate and a slab of roast beast on *Treville's* plate with a turnip — 

"You're a disgrace to your fellow gentry," Jason says, with honest, open fondness. 

"Whenever possible," Treville says, and digs in. After he swallows, he says, "They eat better at the garrison, now, though. I sent them a delicate little man who wanted to serve me *dainties* all day —" 

"You *didn't*." 

Treville laughs *meanly*. "He was a bit overwhelmed, at first, but he's settled in nicely now. Laurent — the Captain — lets him feed us all pheasant every two weeks or so. Keeps him sane." 

Jason — snickers. Like a *boy*. 

Treville *grins*. "I like *that*." 

"Oh, *good*. I'd hate for my loss of dignity to be *dull*." 

"*Dignity* is dull." 

Jason grins wildly — "Yes. Yes, it is, isn't it. What can I do to convince you to let me *suck* your doggy prick, hm?" 

And that... was exactly what they'd been leading to. The question, at this point, is why he isn't shoving their plates aside and — 

And there had been — 

A night. 

Not long before the end. 

They'd already had their marching orders — an incursion into Spanish territory requiring some degree of stealth, and thus requiring *all* of Captain *Bissette's* best men. 

He, Laurent, Reynard, and Kitos would all be riding for this one, leaving Amina with no protectors, at all, but — 

But at the time there hadn't seemed to be any *real* problem in that. The great threat that had required his power being augmented, the dark prophecy that had required him being *bound* — 

There hadn't been any *sign* of it. 

And so he'd just had a night of carousing with his brothers, of drinking and laughing and drinking more, of cuddling with Kitos when he couldn't keep his great paws to himself and kissing Reynard's cheeks dozens of times — 

Kissing his *mouth* — 

Telling secrets they'd told countless times *before* until it had all been too *much* for Treville, and he'd gone to his sister, drunk and hungry and lonely — 

And forgetful. 

Forgetful of the change that had been wrought in him by the spells and rituals. 

And he'd been in Amina's rooms — 

In her tiny little bedroom, stripped down to his smallclothes in the shadows — 

She'd been so *big* with child — 

So massive and shining and *bright* — 

_"Why do you look at me like that, Jean-Armand?"_

_"I'm — I'm sorry —"_

_"*Why*?"_

_"I just — I just want to protect you and — and keep you — care for you —"_

_"You *do* that —"_

_"Please let me *sniff* you."_

_"Are you — is that all you want?"_

_He'd panted —_

_Growled —_

_She'd *stiffened* —_

_Backed *up* a step —_

_"No — oh, no — please don't —"_

_"Jean-*Armand*."_

_He'd come to *attention*._

_"What do you *want*."_

_"I want to make love to you for days. For hours and days and — I want to fuck you and lick you, bite you and suck — oh, *Amina*, I can't — it's a *fire* in me!"_

_"You — you burn for your *brothers*!"_

_"And. My sister."_

_And they'd stared at each other for so long, so —_

_"Do you need. Should I go? I — I'll get *control* — you won't ever have to *see* —"_

_"Oh... sweet brother. I could never say no to *this*!"_

_Treville had *groaned* — "Please. *Please* —"_

_"But — I can't — it's too much — it's too *soon*. I look at you and I wait for your eyes to change back to what they were! I look at you and I wait for you to — to go *back*."_

_"There's no *going* back —"_

_"I *know* that, sweet brother, my brother — I love you so much!"_

_"I love *you*!"_

_And Amina had walked close, closed the distance, *touched* —_

_Cupped Treville's *face* —_

_"Please —"_

_Kissed his mouth so *softly* —_

_Treville had groaned —_

_"Oh, my brother, my brother, you will make me *weep* with need for you —"_

_And Treville had gripped her, kissed her, kissed her hard, *tasted* her the way he tasted his boys when he wanted them to lose themselves, stop thinking, give themselves to *him* —_

_She'd panted into his *mouth* —_

_Moaned and kissed him back, sucked his tongue, licked his tongue, thrown her arms around his neck —_

_And then they'd both felt the babe *kick* —_

_It had made Tréville try to clutch her *closer* — but she'd tugged until he'd let her go._

_She —_

_"Amina..."_

_"I. I do not... want to fall into this. I don't want to *rush* —" She'd growled low and flat and animal as *he* did and shaken her head. "My brother. My *love*. We will do this *right*."_

_"We... will?"_

_She'd nodded then, and smiled, so bravely, so — "You want me *truly*, yes?"_

_"*Yes* —"_

_"You want me to be — your *woman* —"_

_"I want you to *marry* me!"_

_Amina had *grunted* — "*Treville* —"_

_"Please, I —" And he'd laughed helplessly. "Oh, Amina-love, I wanted that *before* they changed me."_

_"But..."_

_Treville had smiled ruefully. "You would've had your lovers —"_

_"And you would've had yours?"_

_"And... sometimes we would come together, in our big bed, with our children. *Our* children, because you'd let me adopt —"_

_"Oh, Jean-*Armand* —"_

_"And I'd let you call me that whenever you *wanted* to —"_

_She'd *coughed* a laugh —_

_"But... you need time."_

_"Yes! And so do *you*. You must *think* about —"_

_"No. No, Amina-love. I know exactly what I want," he'd said, and *looked* at her._

_After a long moment, she'd licked her broad, plush lips and nodded once._

_And beckoned him to her tiny, tiny bed._

_They hadn't slept for a very long time — just lain silent in each other's arms — but..._

_But it had been good._

Quiet and perfect and — 

So *fucking* good —

And he's staring at the memory, at nothing, at ashes, at dust and *decay* — 

"Look at me," Jason says. 

"I..." 

"Look. At. Me." 

Treville whines — and does it. 

Jason's eyes are wide and round — too round. Too red. Too — "Don't — enchant me." 

"Not even to pull you away from this? I would spare you pain, Treville." 

"I know. But it will just come back threefold later," Treville says, and — tries and fails to pull his gaze away from Jason's. He — "Jason —" 

Jason blinks — his eyes are back to normal, a little sleepy, a little disconcertingly red, but still more brown than anything else. 

"Thank you —" 

"Don't thank me for being *decent*, Treville." 

"Well, you obviously had to make an *effort*, so..." 

Jason laughs hard — "Treville." 

Treville grins, ignoring the tears again. 

Again. 

*Again* — 

But Jason wipes them away with slim, overlong fingers. "She was beautiful. And obviously strong and wise." 

"She was — so much. Her laugh could shake the rafters of a palace ballroom. And she — her sense of humour was wonderfully filthy. Horribly filthy. Nobody made more comments about me running after pretty boys than she did." 

"*Really*. And how young...?" 

"There's a threat in that question — and I appreciate that very much," Treville says, leaning back. "I like my boys old enough to know and appreciate *everything* that happens between us. Too young — is too young. And worth a man getting his bollocks nailed to his forehead." 

Jason inclines his head. "How *do* your Musketeers do with that sort of thing?" 

"Better than most soldiers. We were — most of us — recruited by the single most *honourable* man I've ever known or am ever likely *to* know. That would be my brother *Laurent*. The current recruiters are men he'd recruited, too, so..." Treville shrugs and forces himself to keep eating. 

To — fuel himself. 

To just — 

No. He eats. 

He eats until it's all gone, and then he drinks his watered wine — less water than usual, Laurent knows precisely how little sleep he's been getting since he'd been led so *fucking* mysteriously to Amina's body —

Led there after five *years* of fruitless searching — 

Laurent had damned well sent word to Treville's servants. 

Treville is off-duty until further notice. 

Treville — is going to have a nanny if he's not careful. 

"A nanny? Or brothers who love you." 

Treville gives Jason a sour look. 

Jason laughs gently. "You *did* say you'd bound them...?" 

Treville — slumps. "Savoy, that time. We all took wounds —" 

"And you were incautious with your blood — the first time." 

Treville smiles ruefully. "When Kitos healed without so much as a *dimple* from the dagger that I *know* came close to nicking his liver... I was incautious with a *will* with Reynard and Laurent." 

"Whale and Fox and... Laurent is gentry?" 

"Laurent d'Achille de la Fère. He's a comte, and my eldest brother, and the reason I was in range of your summons." 

Jason cocks his head, long hair falling... beautifully. 

Treville looks away. 

"I've seen your Reynard in your mind. Are you berating yourself for having something of a type?" 

Well... "More for cheating on him," Treville says, and snorts. 

"Having seen the way he *touches* you... I take your point —" 

"Don't —" 

"We'll leave that. Though I do have *one* pointed question." 

Treville continues to not look at the man. "Ask it." 

"You do your *level* best not to look where they don't *drag* your eyes, don't you." 

Treville doesn't say anything. 

"Put another way — you don't actually *use* your power with them, because that would sully the purity of your relationships —" 

"Jason —" 

"Tell me I'm wrong about your acts, your *failure* to act, *or* your reasoning." 

Treville stares — at nothing at all. 

He — 

And then he turns back to Jason. "What happened after Merlin bought your life?" 

Jason *jerks* — and his smile is really a wince. "Very well. We can go back there if you wish." 

And Treville... feels like just as much of an arsehole — 

He — 

His wince is nothing but a wince. "I apologize." 

"Don't —" 

"I —" 

Jason holds up a hand — "This story is the least of what I owe you, and I *was* being... aggressive." 

"Ife — one of the witches who made me this — told me once that dogs weren't meant to keep secrets." 

"That's always been true enough, to my observations —" 

"I can't. I *can't* look in their minds and see their *pure* love for me, their *chaste* love for me, their —" Treville growls and turns away again. "I've been so alone. I've been — they've all rejected me once." 

Jason takes a breath — 

Seems to be *calculating* something behind his eyes — 

And then nods. "I'm not going to push you, Treville. Not in this way. *I* want to be your lover." 

"I — what —" 

"You need time. You are, quite frankly, a bloody mess. You're *grieving*. You could use a helping hand, perhaps, or even a brutal *fuck*, but you are *not* ready for a lover." 

Treville — breathes. "No. I'm not. I — I think even if Reynard..." He shakes his head. "I'm frozen inside. When I think of love, I breathe in Amina. *Amina*." 

"Your wife." 

"We never —" 

"She was your wife in your heart — in your *soul* — long before you asked her. Wasn't she?" 

Treville barks — "Yes. Fuck, fuck —" 

"She was your wife before your *cock* worked that way." 

Treville barks a *laugh* — "*Yes*. My only — she's the only woman — she *was* the only — and I'm going *mad* without her —"

"Let's find your son." 

"My. My. Do you truly think he's *alive*?" 

Jason inhales through his teeth — and closes his eyes. Just for a moment.

Treville shudders — and nods. "No. I don't, either. Even though — I can't feel the *specific* *thing* that would let me know he was dead —" 

"No? The bond isn't quiescent?" 

Treville swallows and lets more tears fall. "Not like Amina's. It's... I just can't *touch* it, or point to it. I don't — he could be on another *sphere* for all I know." 

Jason nods thoughtfully and reaches into nothingness — and pulls out, carefully, a large, flat, *full* bowl. 

The bowl is full of blood, and — under a preservation spell, by the feel of it. 

"This is the blood of a spirit-mage — a friend a few centuries ago. It's the most powerful tool for scrying that *can* be used — have you ever...?" 

Treville frowns and shakes his head. 

"I'll teach you. For now, give me whatever of Amina's that you keep on your person." 

"I —" Treville growls and hands him the leg of the ragdoll that had been all Treville had been able to recover of her belongings on Belgard's property after he'd murdered the man. 

He gives the leg to Jason, who *licks* it — 

Concentrates *obviously* — 

And then the blood in the bowl churns with a somehow thickly *massive* series of movements — 

It starts giving off a light that's pale as *bone* — 

And then there are images. 

Amina. 

Amina with Porthos tucked against her chest. 

Amina wounded, ragged from a chase — 

Amina *bargaining* *frantically* — 

And then Treville *feels* Jason's power *flex* — 

_"— please, I have *friends* who will *pay* for you to help us!"_

_"There's only one currency I care about, Mademoiselle..."_

And the perspective changes — 

And there is a man. 

He is small, neat. 

Pale, but not sickly in appearance. 

Older, but not old. 

Dark hair shot through with grey, most thoroughly in his trim beard. 

The rich clothes of an *exceedingly* successful merchant. But... where is he? Where are they? 

_"What *is* that currency? I need to be able to *hide*! I need to be able to hide and protect my loved ones!"_

_"I understand. You're being hunted, yes?"_

_"*Yes*."_

_"And the hunter is, perhaps, somewhat immune to the natural magic within you?"_

_"It — it rolled off him like *water* —"_

_"So. You wish to protect your witch-friends from your hunter, too. This is a great risk to me, Mademoiselle. *But* — you have something I want."_

_"What *is* —"_

_"Your life."_

_Amina rears back —_

_"Not all at once, of course. Nothing so *dramatic*. But your life, your vitality — a little bit at a time, *over* time, for your — and the babe's — anonymity. *Safety*."_

_Amina shakes her head —_

_But she doesn't see the shade behind her, she doesn't see its claws —_

_The gesture Guillou makes —_

_The shade *rams* its ethereal claws through Amina's *head* —_

_Her eyes roll up —_

_She weeps bloody *tears* —_

_And Guillou allows the shade to drink them before urging it back._

_Amina slumps... but doesn't fall._

_She never slackens her hold on Porthos._

_She._

_"Do you agree to my terms, Mademoiselle?"_

_"I... I..."_

_"It's truly the best offer you'll get."_

_"Don't... want..."_

_The shade stabs her twice more._

_She falls to her knees._

_Porthos —_

_Porthos starts to *wail* —_

_"Don't — I have to — my friends —"_

_"I don't think I want to meet them, Mademoiselle."_

_"No... you... don't..."_

_"That's right. That's just right. Now simply say 'yes'."_

Treville *snarls* — 

He's — 

The shift is *boiling* under his *skin* — 

And Jason does a pass over the surface of the bowl, making everything — stop. 

"Where." 

"I could draw you a *map*, but — here," he says, and touches Treville's temple. 

It calms the shift — and shows him an address among the guild-protected inns. Far from all the magic-users *he* knows. 

How had Amina *found* — 

No. 

No. 

That's not important right now. "What else do you need before you'll be ready, Jason?" 

Jason studies *him* for a moment that makes Treville *twitch* — 

And then he nods. "Dress as you would. We're going to make a *mess*." 

Treville shows his teeth — and heads for his armoury.


	4. It doesn't feel better.

Jason clears the property of shades, revenants, boggarts, et cetera, and *et* cetera while they're still approaching it. Guillou is strong, but he's grown fat on the blood and fear and pain of *humans*. 

He's an insect compared to *Jason*. 

If Treville notices what he's doing, he says nothing — but then, Treville is currently a massive, oily-furred, deep-chested hunting hound at Jason's side. 

At the moment, he's communicating in scents and frighteningly *banked* rage. 

Dogs shouldn't be able to *do* that... 

But, well, it does bode well for their plans. 

Jason is armed and armoured, but glamoured to appear anything but. The lead he has on Treville is *also* glamour, but it just *might* get Guillou to *choose* to allow them into his home without coercion, which would *also* make certain things — 

And then the four *apparent* drunks in front of Guillou's home frankly *erupt*, spewing out long-dead and half-rotted *children* in spiked *collars* and Diana's thousand *teats*, *really*? 

*Really*? 

The children scream like the unholy horrors they've been turned into and leap for them. 

Treville tears the first one in half with one swipe of a massive paw. 

Jason drops his glamour and slices two in half with his — possessed, of course — bastard sword. 

The street clears. 

The last one expands like an inflated bladder — no, there'll be poison — 

"*Back*, Treville," Jason says, and *forces* the thing back while setting it ablaze — 

Contains the remnants of the poison gas — 

Forces it into *storage* — 

You never know — 

And Treville is glowing a bright-hot blue and *ramming* into Guillou's door — splintering it. 

Jason moves to back him — 

Treville is already shredding a — 

Well, Jason will try to identify the body parts later. 

And that, truly, is that — except for Treville biting *deep* into the meat of Guillou's arse and dragging him bodily back in through the window he was trying to escape through. 

Treville shakes him. 

Jason seals the building against the man's screams — 

Treville spits him *out* — 

Circles him — 

Snaps and snarls — 

And... this is a *moment*. 

Treville is *not* himself — not entirely. The *man* wants Guillou's *slow* death and *eternal* — as near as they can manage it — suffering. 

The dog wants to *end* something *wrong*. 

The man and the dog are *not* two separate beings... but they're not quite *one* being, either. 

Treville was not born a shifter. 

This is a moment, and a choice. 

Jason can *guide* that choice and — 

And that is *exactly* what he'll do. "*Treville*," he says, sharply. 

The dog looks at him like a *snack*. 

Jason gives his cock a be-patient pat. "One thousand. Years. Of. Screams." 

The dog *blinks* — and then shifts *right* back into the man, who pulls his dagger from his belt and *promptly* — and neatly — removes Guillou's left eye. 

Impressive, considering the fact that they hadn't bothered to *bind* the man. 

Jason takes care of that while Treville bounces the eye in his palm — 

And while Guillou screams and screams and *screams*. He does, in fact, look somewhat younger and healthier than he had in the memory they'd pulled from the aether. 

As these things go.

"You can still heal from that," Treville says, when Guillou takes a breath. "You're a powerful man. A *knowledgeable man." 

"I — I — I can help you! I can give you — what do you want?!" 

Treville narrows his eyes in a hot smile — and tosses Guillou's eye back over his shoulder — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"I *want*... to give you hope." 

"What? Wh-what?" 

"I want you to hope, for just as long as you can, that you'll live through this," Treville says, and stomps on the man's crotch — 

Guillou *howls* — 

Treville waits. 

"Out of curiosity," Jason says. And waits. 

"Yes, Jason?" 

"*Do* you handle interrogations for your Musketeers, or do they make sure you're in another bloody *country* when they're happening?" 

Treville barks a laugh. "The latter. Mostly," he says, and makes a considering face. 

"Yes, amant?" 

Treville *blinks* — 

*Looks* at Jason — 

Jason pulls on his absolute *worst* innocent face — 

And Treville smiles at him savagely. 

Honestly, it's a good thing Jason is wearing trousers under this mail. They'll soak up all the *spend* when he comes all over himself — 

And Treville slices off Guillou's left ear. 

Well. 

*Well*. 

No, wait — "Was there something —" 

"Strip him." 

"As you wish," Jason says, and sets the man's clothes ablaze, being none too careful to keep the eldritch heat away from his flesh. 

The screams reach ecstatic heights — 

And Treville sighs — 

And sighs — 

"Shall I keep this up?" 

"For a little longer, please." 

"As you wish, amant." 

"About that." 

"About what?" 

Treville laughs *hard* — 

And Jason grins — 

Lets Guillou smell his own burning hair — oh, no, that was a mistake, the pomade is *awful* — 

Jason pulls the flames away from the man's remaining hair — 

Treville sneezes *twelve times* before Jason can get the scents to dissipate a little — 

"Terribly sorry —" 

"He's choking, so —" Treville sneezes again, and spits — "So, it's not all bad." 

"*Very* true. Still, I think the burning should cease for the time being?" 

Treville sighs *sadly* and nods. 

Jason breathes the flames back in — and Guillou is red as a radish, blistering here and there and shivering. 

Shuddering. 

The flavors of his pain are... exquisite. 

Though mostly to the parts of himself he doesn't like. 

"Mostly, Jason?" 

"Mostly." 

"Hrr." Treville slaps Guillou — 

He shrieks — 

Twice for just the one slap — 

Oh, he's hypersensitized. Will that *frustrate* his delightful new friend? 

"Not at all. If I put him into shock — say, for example, by doing this — " And Treville crouches and slices *through* one of Guillou's nipples — 

Guillou *chokes* on a scream — and his pupils narrow to pinpoints.

Treville sighs. "He's in a much brighter place now. But he can't stay," he says, yanking open the man's mouth and spitting bloody saliva into it. 

Guillou chokes again — 

His pupils dilate — 

He shrieks and shrieks and shrieks. 

Well. "Nicely *done*, amant." 

"*Thank* you. *About* that." 

"Yes...?" 

"I have some questions about your aesthetic, Jason." 

"Do you?" 

"Absolutely not; you might answer me," Treville says, and *backhands* Guillou. 

He stops shrieking just like that. 

"Guillou." 

A whimper. 

"You can still survive this..." 

"I... I..." 

"You can heal *perfectly* from this," Treville says, and neatens the man's mussed beard and moustache. 

"I... can?" 

"Of course you can," Treville says, and strokes what's left of his *hair*. 

Amant, Jason doesn't think *very* loudly, I would very much like to relieve your various tensions by fucking you catastrophically *moronic*. 

(I think I can work with that.) 

Jason *grunts* — 

And Treville lets him see the edge of his smile as he leans in to whisper into Guillou's one remaining ear. "You killed my Amina, Guillou." 

Guillou stiffens — "She — agreed —" 

"We all know it wasn't true consent. The fact that you just tried to pretend otherwise... well, I'm going to circumcise you in just a moment, but *first* —" 

Guillou *sobs* — 

"Shh, shh," Treville says, and strokes Guillou's hair a little more. "Hush now. Can you do that for me?" 

"Y-yes —" 

"Good boy. Hush... and think very, very hard about the answer to this question: Where is her *child*." 

"Nn — nnn —" 

"Shh. Not yet. First you have to hurt." 

"No! NO!" 

Jason has to say that, even with Guillou bound, even with a *very* sharp blade — it's very clearly magically-maintained — Treville doesn't do a very *neat* job of circumcising Guillou. 

Jason sighs and shakes his head. 

"You did *say* we'd be making a mess, Jason." 

"He's in shock again, amant..." 

"And dying quickly, yes. That's not on, at all," Treville says, biting into his own wrist and dripping directly onto the man's wounded cock. 

It twitches reflexively — 

And *these* shrieks raise a laggardly shade from under the floorboards. 

Jason dispatches it. 

Treville stops Guillou from shrieking by the simple expedient of placing a finger just *beneath* his ragged eye socket. 

The stink of his fear — 

And piss — 

And *shit* — 

Well, Jason dissipates it as well as he can, and it's at least quiet again. 

"You can still feel better, Guillou. There can be... an end to this. You want that, don't you?" 

"I'll do anything!" 

"Anything at all?" 

"Yes!" 

"Then tell me where my boy is. Tell me." 

Guillou — quakes. "I can't..." 

Treville narrows his eyes — and flares his nostrils. "I don't like that answer, Guillou." 

"I know, sir, I know," he says, and he's weeping from his one eye, dejected and — broken. "Your girl, she had power! But she used it all t-to *protect* the boy. She — she wove spell after *spell* around him even as. As I was *draining* her. I." And Guillou hitches a sob. "I could've told you where he was when she was alive, but when I went to *try* to collect him after she finally died, he was gone! And... h-hidden." 

"From you." 

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I don't mean to be bad. Does this mean you have to hurt me more?" 

The honesty is... obvious. 

Horrible. 

*Ironic*. 

And Treville is starting to crack. 

"Amant, *stand*." 

Treville grunts and does just that. 

"Pull your rapier." 

He obeys. 

"Ask him. Ask him for his consent." 

Treville pants — 

And pants — 

And *whines* — snarls. "Guillou. Will you do anything for me?" 

"*Yes*, sir!" 

"Open your power, amant — and *pull* as you strike." 

Treville does it... perfectly. 

Or it seems as though he does. There *should* be nothing left of Guillou in this room but the parts of him which were no longer *attached*, but... 

There is energy. 

*Vitality*. 

And it's not... 

"It's. It's what he was hoarding from Amina. Tainted, but — still more her than him. I can taste it," Treville says, and he's weeping steadily. 

"I —" 

_It seems to me,_ Etrigan says, speaking to both of them, _that the balance of things was greatly upset by the 'bargain' that creature struck with the woman. This offends me. While I cannot do anything to help the two of you find the boy, I can *send* this *to* the boy. He will be... better. And better able to defend himself from whatever comes until the two of you *can* find him._

"*PLEASE*!" 

And the energy is — gone. 

_It is done, Treville. Take heed: Walking too many paths with Blood as your companion is a dangerous occupation for even dangerous people. Perhaps especially for them. Good day._

Treville blinks, obviously confused and more than a little *lost* — 

And Jason... can't. He moves close, cupping Treville's blood-spattered face. "I said Etrigan and I stopped warring on each other and became allies. I did *not* say we started liking each other. Though... he told you no lies. I *am* a dangerous man to —" 

"Stop." 

"Treville?" 

"Stop — warning me. Stop — I can't —" Treville growls and sheaths his rapier. "The time is done for that. You want to be my lover?" 

"*Yes* —" 

"Bloody *prove* it." 

And that — 

Every shadow *in* him lashes out and *grips* Treville — 

Holds him *still* — 

"What — what are —"

"Shh..." And Jason cups his face again, this time with both hands, and kisses him hard, wet, deep — 

Grips him *tighter* — 

Grips him *harder* — 

Treville *fights* him, fights the *shadows* — 

Jason can feel every tensed muscle, every *flex* — 

Jason *growls* into Treville's mouth, knowing Treville will hear/feel it as coming from outside himself, knowing it will seem as though it's pressing in on him from all *sides* — 

The shadows groping Treville's cock feel it *jerk* — 

And Jason *grins* into the kiss — and pulls back. "Shall we fuck in the blood and other bits, amant? Do you like that sort of thing, too?" 

Treville shivers. "Sometimes. Not now." 

"I love your *honesty*." 

"I'm a *dog*." 

"People have told me *more* than once that I could use a... pet..." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Treville shivers again — 

The shadows make Jason feel it *everywhere* — "Answer the question I didn't quite ask." 

"I don't know. I — haven't." 

"Do you *want* to." 

"Not — the first time." 

Jason's cock *flexes*. "Would you mind *terribly* if I took you back to your manor the fast and horrifically-disturbing way?" 

"Not in the slightest." 

Jason growls again — no. He opens a path between their abattoir and Treville's library and *drags* Treville through it by main force, not bothering to release him from his shadows first. "Don't look at anything too closely —" 

"Too late," he says, in a somewhat strangled voice — 

Which. 

That's unfortunate. But he *does* still have his erection.


	5. We all need *precisely* what we need.

At some point, Treville is going to ask himself what he's doing. 

He's almost sure of it. 

The fact that he hadn't done it while he was systematically torturing a man *nearly* to death — 

While he was being restrained by somehow solid *shadows* and pulled *between* the spheres — 

While he was being hauled to his own bedroom and stripped and — 

Touched. 

Touched. 

He's naked now, spread-eagle on his bed, being molested by still more shadows — cool, smoky, hard where they're not soft, silky where they're not impossibly *rough* — 

He's naked, and he's hard, and Jason is watching him from a — shadowed — corner of the bedroom. 

Jason is naked, too, and — 

Impressive. 

More so than he'd been in the fire, somehow, even without that gorgeous red hair dancing around his head. 

It's hanging down round his shoulders now, the longest strands reaching down to his pectoral muscles. It's. 

Treville wants to touch it. 

"That can be arranged, amant..."

Treville raises an eyebrow — and then looks to the shadows currently teasing at his inner elbows. 

Jason laughs richly. "The fact that I'm indulging myself with you right now... well. We can do anything. *Anything*." And Jason's eye's flare — red. 

He's not going to ask himself what he's doing just yet — 

"No, don't do that..." And Jason cups his own thick, lovely cock — 

Dripping cock — 

*Hungry* cock — 

Treville flushes and groans. "You want to fuck me." 

"I do. *Hard*. But do you like that, amant? You strike me as the sort of man who... well." 

"I..." Treville licks his lips. 

Studies the hard, well-worked *muscle* of Jason's body — 

The *flex* of it when Treville can't keep himself from groaning again — 

"Will you answer?" 

"Yes. When you come closer." 

"How close?" 

"Touch me. Touch me with your — I need. I need your hands." 

Jason comes to him immediately, kneeling between his legs and gesturing the shadows away from Treville's torso — 

Stroking up and up and — 

"You've needed sword-calluses on you, yes?" 

"*Fuck*, yes, I — I haven't had —" 

"That's obscene." 

Treville barks a laugh. "Are you sure you want to use that word for *that*?" 

Jason only looks at him. "Yes." 

Treville — pants. "I — I've liked being fucked." 

"But... it's been a while?" 

"Yes —" 

"Years?" 

"Since — I was a boy." 

"You're a dominant man." 

"Habitually." Treville laughs again. "I couldn't — I was a dominant *boy*." 

Jason grins. "Now that would've been a sight to see. You put grown men on their knees when you *were* a boy, didn't you." 

"*Habitually*." 

Jason laughs and brushes the shadows away from Treville's face, cupping him there, stroking him *hard* —

His calluses are *vicious* — 

"Would you like to feel them on your cock...?" 

"Fuck — yes —" 

"Right now...?" 

"I —" 

"Or would you like to be teased?" 

And Treville — pauses inside. He... 

He *does* lead his encounters. 

He *does* push his lovers — his casual *fucks* — around. 

And he pushes them in very specific ways. 

None of his boys have ever had cause to complain after an hour — or a weekend — with him, but... 

"You don't tend to linger on your *own* pleasure. Do you," Jason says. 

Treville looks at Jason and smiles wryly. "I'm usually too — needy. By then." 

"Hmm. Let me see if I can work out how that would happen..." And Jason drags those calluses over Treville's nipples — 

Treville gasps a laugh and — lets himself arch for it — "You do that —" 

"Beautiful..." 

Treville flushes — 

"You want to argue about that. I know you do. Think, instead, of how hard I am for you. Of how hard I've *been* for you practically since you put me back *together*." 

"Hm." 

"Yes?" 

"It would've been a bit gruesome if you were hard before then." 

"It would've made the process of dying *much* more pleasant, though." 

"For *you*." 

"For me, yes," Jason says, and *pinches* Treville's nipples — and holds the pinch. 

Treville grunts — 

Flushes — 

"Jason —" 

"Do you like this." 

"Yes — but. Only a little." 

"You prefer my other calluses?" 

Treville *blushes* — "Yes." 

"This is an old, old need in you, amant. I'll feed it whenever you wish," Jason says, and proceeds to... pet him. 

All over. 

All *over*. 

He strokes Treville until he's shivering and arching and — 

He strokes Treville's *legs* — 

His *feet* — 

His *ears* — 

"Jason —" 

"Shh. Take it." 

Treville grunts — 

Stiffens — 

And Jason pauses. That — 

He doesn't want that — 

But — 

"Shh," Jason says, and cups his face again. Hard. "Tell me what you didn't like so I can avoid it." 

"I'm not — your boy." 

Jason raises an eyebrow — 

Treville bares his teeth helplessly — 

"You don't have to be a boy in order to *take* what you *want*, amant." 

Treville blinks — 

"In fact... it rather helps to be an adult for that sort of thing." And Jason raises his eyebrow higher. 

He — 

(Let me have you.) 

Fuck — 

"The men who fucked you, amant..." 

"I — yes?" 

"The men you *allowed* to fuck your beautiful, tight *arse*." 

Treville *grunts* — "Jason —" 

"You pushed them, too, didn't you." 

"I..." 

"You *allowed* them the *use* of your arse for a *certain* length of time in certain very *specific* ways —" 

Treville growls and turns away — 

"Did it truly please you?" 

"*Yes* — I — I liked... the feelings," Treville says, and turns back, turns — he doesn't want to avoid this man, this — "I liked being fucked. I couldn't — bend." 

"But you want to. For me." 

"Yes." He does. He does. 

"I'll make it easy... if you'd like." 

Treville blinks — and raises an eyebrow of his own. "Were you planning to pour brandy down my throat? That'll just get you knotted." 

"And I'm *dearly* hoping for that — later." 

"Oh —" 

"*Later*," Jason says, and presses two fingers to Treville's mouth. 

Lightly. 

"You could let me rape you, amant," he says, and pauses. 

And *pauses* — 

And *then* moves his fingers again. 

"There's a problem with that sentence, Jason. Perhaps more than one." 

Jason laughs dirtily. "I love your *unflappability*, amant. But. *Consent*... is a slippery thing. If one lets it be." 

Treville frowns. "Were you planning to enchant the bloody-mindedness out of me?" 

"We could do it that way. Or I could overpower you in one way or another. Or... well, the point is that we have a *few* choices. And that, in any event, *your* choice would be taken away. *Your* ability — and *responsibility* — to choose how the encounter will go would be taken away." 

Treville's heart — pounds. "I... honestly don't know if that sounds attractive or horrifying." 

"Given what I've come to know about you today... I'm going to hazard *both*." 

That — Treville snorts. "Jason." 

Jason grins. "I want to *please* you, amant..." 

"I'm — making you wait too long —" 

"Have you never spent long, pleasurable hours in flirty negotiation with a pretty little boy who was, perhaps, a *bit* recalcitrant?" 

"Of course I — I'm not a — I know you didn't just call me — bloody hell, I'm a sodding *mess*," Treville says, and bangs his head against the bed. 

Jason laughs — and kisses his throat — 

Treville gasps — 

Jason kisses his throat harder, more wetly, more — 

"I — I like that —" 

"Mmmm," Jason says, and — makes *love* to his throat with lips and tongue — not teeth. 

He won't mark this way — 

He — 

He starts *petting* Treville again, everywhere he can *reach* — 

So firmly — 

So warmly and — bloody *perfectly* — 

And he can relax for this, can't he? 

He can *let* himself, and — 

And Jason's mouth is *hot*, not warm — 

And Jason's hands are the rough hands of a soldier, an *eternal* soldier, a man to have at your side, at your back. A — 

Brother? 

(I would be honoured beyond the telling of it, amant. Think about rape.)

Treville flushes — 

Fights the *order* of it — 

Jason *sucks* at his Adam's apple — 

Treville *moans* — 

(Think about rape, *please*.) 

"Do you — do you *want* —" 

(I want everything with you,) Jason says, and kisses his way down to Treville's chest, kisses hot, kisses *wet* — 

Suckles at Treville's *nipple* — 

Treville thinks of Amina's breasts — 

How heavy they had been when he'd last seen her — 

How — 

How she would sometimes let him milk her, just with his hands, before Porthos was born — 

How he'd be *hard*, so *hard* as he kneaded and pressed, tugged and *pressed* — 

Aiming her milk into *cloths* as she moaned softly and snugged back *against* him — 

_"That's — oh, right there, sweet brother..."_

_"My hands aren't... too rough?"_

_"Your hands are my *fire*."_

They'd lie together after, Treville sucking the milk from the cloths and stroking himself to completion — 

Amina watching and wondering and — 

_"Oh, my sweet brother..."_

And then. 

They'd sleep. 

They'd. 

And Jason isn't sucking his nipple anymore, which — is probably for the best. Treville laughs painfully. "I'm —" 

"*Don't* apologize," Jason says, and strokes him — 

And strokes him — 

And *deliberately* strokes over his nipples — 

Treville shivers and groans and arches — "Fuck, I love your *hands* —" 

"And not my mouth?" 

"No — I — I love your mouth, too!" 

"But... it's too much in some ways. Yes, that makes perfect sense, considering," Jason says, cocking his head and letting his gorgeous hair fall to the side — 

Treville tugs against the last remaining shadows around his wrists — 

They slide away — 

He reaches up and touches that hair, strokes it — 

Silky. Strong. *Thick*. 

He doesn't let himself bury his fingers in it. He doesn't. 

Jason raises an eyebrow. 

"I'll — want things to go a certain way if I do that."

Jason inclines his head. "As you say, amant," he says, and moves to Treville's side. "Would you turn over for me? I'd like to pet your back and arse." 

Treville shivers and does it, moving slowly enough that he feels like an invalid, weak, small — 

And then Jason's hands are on him again, and they seek out every muscle, every spar of bone, every *muscle* — 

*They* move slowly, but it's reverent, appreciative — 

Treville can't *not* feel every way he's honed his body over the years — 

Every way he's made it *fit* — but. 

Fit for what, exactly?

Warring, of course, but there's more to life than that. 

He's grown accustomed to being the not-quite-entirely-terrifying-one among his brothers, to having a charming smile, a good laugh, a wit that attracts enough to let his hands and mouth and cock do the *rest* — 

But. 

He hasn't had a *lover*. 

He hasn't — 

He's had boys. *Whores*. *Dalliances*. 

He's had farmboys to tumble, and recruits to comfort for long moments before *having* them, and pageboys in palaces all over *Europe*, but — 

He hasn't had a lover. 

And he's not — 

He's had *chances*. 

There are lords who have floated offers past him — time and *again*. Merchants who do business with the garrison who've enjoyed his sense of humour just as much as his boys have. 

He's had *chances*, and he's not taken a single — 

"Don't berate yourself for that, amant..." And Jason is massaging Treville's shoulders — 

"I —" 

"Soft hands, rich clothes, soft *men* who faint at the sight of blood... what *ever* would you *do* with such a man at your side?" Jason is *working* every bit of tension out of him, and — 

"Your point is made, but —" 

"We all need *precisely* what we need — and no one and nothing else, amant." 

And *that*... "Are you saying that you need me?" 

"Are you saying that you *don't* need me...?" And the smile in Jason's voice is sharp, confident, hungry — wanting. 

*Wanting*. 

"Of course it is, amant. It's *you*." 

"You're not as confident as you want me to think —" 

"I'm precisely as confident as I want you to think," Jason says, and works his strong, *hard* hands down Treville's back. "I have no problem whatsoever admitting that I'm feeling as much *neediness* as *need*. We've just met." 

Treville blushes and grunts, but — "Steady on, man. We tortured and enslaved a man together. That's enough for some *brass* in your bollocks." 

Jason laughs quietly. "And *you* hate it when people doubt your care for them." 

"Of course I bloody do! I —" 

"Amant. We've just met. You're allowed to be —" 

"Less besotted than you are?" 

"In a word? Yes." 

"I'm all *right* with that —" 

"Liar," Jason says, and laughs more. "You beautiful man. You perfectly beautiful..." Jason growls. "Whatever happens tonight, you're going to spend until you're *unconscious*." 

Treville flushes *hard* — "Jason —" 

"Shh." 

"*No* —" 

Jason laughs *hard* — "Fine. *Fight* me." 

"Not that, *either* —" 

"Tell me about your brothers...?" 

"I — I'm in love with all of them, and I have been — I have been. Forever." 

"How they must *crave* you..." 

"You said you wouldn't *push* —" 

"I never will. After all, the less time you spend with them, the more time *I* get to spend seducing you to *my* side and *my* war." 

Treville blinks — "That... I'm not sure it's possible for a sentence to *be* more manipulative than that one." 

Jason snickers. "You're right; I'm sorry. Punish me by letting me *brutally* rape you." 

Treville's cock *spasms* — 

"*Really*." 

"That's *my* question —" 

"Is it?"

"Would it be *punishment* —" 

Jason laughs hard again — "No. *No*. Stop thinking you're a burden to me or my needy *cock* immediately, please. I've had a *very* long time to build a *very* long list of... fixations, if you will." 

Treville... tenses. 

Jason hums and keeps massaging him. "And *you*, mon amant, have, more than once, wanted more than you've given yourself." 

"We've all —" 

"Tell me, mon amant. Tell me what it's like to *dominate* another man when all you wish, all you crave, all you *thirst* for is his *boot* on your *neck*." 

And Treville is sweating, just like that. 

Treville is — 

Aching and panting and *whining* — 

Just — 

"Please fuck me. Please *fuck* me." 

"You're not ready, yet." 

"Jason —" 

"We both know that was an order," Jason says, and keeps *massaging* him. "So let's get you a little bit closer to begging." 

"I — do you want to break me?" 

"Only as much as you want to be broken, and only for that long." 

Treville shivers and shivers — "I'm afraid." 

"I know, mon amant. But your essential bravery and strength shine through just the same. I will never doubt you. I will always crave you at my side." 

"I want — I don't know... there's got to be a way to *do* this!" 

"A reasonable way? A... practical way, perhaps?" 

"*Yes*." 

"I've some ideas." 

"*Try* them, *please* —" 

"Here's one," Jason says, and — 

And then there's a shadow, wrapped round his face. His — 

His *entire* face — 

He can't *breathe* — 

He can't *see* — 

He reaches for it — no. No. 

This is about... helping him. 

This is about — putting him... in... his place? Can he even *say* that without — 

"You are, in fact, reaching for the mask again — but don't worry, *you* won't be able to remove it." 

Treville *grunts* — 

Thinks about the fact that he can't bloody *breathe* again — 

His heart starts to *race* — 

And Jason strokes his back firmly — 

Gently — 

*Soothingly* — "Don't worry, I won't let you suffocate... more than you like."

Treville *freezes* — 

Does he like this? 

He's *sweating* again, and he's — 

He's bloody *hard*, and he keeps trying to *gasp* — 

His lungs are starting to burn — 

And then Jason *grips* the back of Treville's head and *shoves* it down and — 

And even *knowing* that it doesn't make anything worse — 

That it *can't* make anything — 

Treville *thrashes* — 

Until the shadows take him again, wrists and ankles and — 

And he's trapped. 

Still. 

Spread. 

He has no *air* — 

He can't — 

He's shuddering all *over*, he — 

His cock is *jerking* against the sheets — 

And then Jason's shadows *lift* his hips — 

And Jason pulls his cock and bollocks back between his legs. 

He. 

He *has* felt more vulnerable, more *exposed*, but only when Laurent has been *interrogating* him about his buggery while he's been tossing himself off, and — 

"*Fascinating*," Jason says, and *smacks* his cock — 

Treville tries to *gasp* — 

He chokes — 

He strangles on a scream — 

His head *throbs* — 

His cock *leaks* — 

"Laurent, it seems, would have no trouble, at all, bending you over..." 

He — he's my superior — 

"In every way?" 

He's never — 

Thought — 

And there's black, so much black, everything is — 

Jason smacks his cock again — 

I OWE HIM EVERYTHING!

"Do you?" 

He taught me, kept me, trained me — 

"Did he claim you." 

He — 

"Did he *claim* you." 

I asked him — for a kiss — 

"And it confused him, yes, I see... and I also see that he's spent the seven years *since* giving you every secret of his heart, including the intimate details of his lovemaking with his *wife*." 

I — I — I — 

"He's all but sat her on your *cock*, amant." 

I can't — 

"No, you can't. You're going to lose consciousness soon." 

What?

"Everything's going dark and quiet. Isn't it." 

It — you... 

"You're losing yourself. You're growing weaker." 

Treville tries to — to — 

He doesn't *know* what he's trying to do. He doesn't — 

He can't — 

"You can't think. You can't see. But it's warm, isn't it." 

It — it's warm — 

"And a kind of soft...?" 

He doesn't need soft, he doesn't need — 

"But you need the warmth. It's cold out there. Warmth is practical." 

Yes. Yes... 

"Burrow into it. Give yourself over to it." 

To — to the warmth — 

"And to me. I'm going to touch you once you're helpless." 

Treville's cock jerks *hard*, but it's almost — almost in another country — 

Another — 

The pleasure *flows* throughout his body — 

The pleasure can't be — stopped, or — 

Or contained or — 

"Are you already helpless, mon amant?" 

He must be. He must — 

He can't let himself — 

He tries to push up — 

On his hands — 

And he's dimly aware of the shadows tightening, of the rough *brush* of them against his skin, punishing and promising — 

He wants to *moan* — 

He wants to — 

Not beg, not — 

"Not yet?" Jason laughs softly. "All is well, amant. I *promise*," he says, and spreads Treville's *arse*. "Why, just look at this tiny little hole." 

Fuck — 

"Hardly used, at all...' 

Treville's cock jerks and jerks and — 

He wants to *scream* — 

He can't do anything about the *sensations*, and — why is he conscious? 

Shouldn't he be... gone? By now? 

"Are you quite sure you aren't?" 

The question stymies him, leaves him blank and dim and lost — 

Needy — 

His hole is so *cold* — 

"We can't have *that*...." 

And then there's hot *breath* on him, making him tingle, making him *need* to squirm — 

He can't *move* — 

He can't do anything but *feel* — 

(That's right...) 

He can't — 

And the breath goes on and on, longer than any breath *could*. Treville aches in sympathy, in need — 

He's covered in gooseflesh — 

His cock is — *spasming* — 

(Now,) Jason says, and presses his soft lips — 

His soft — 

Hot — 

Presses and presses and the kisses — 

Or is it just one kiss? 

On his hole, on his *hole*, and Treville has done this to other people dozens of times, possibly more, but this — 

He can't *move* — 

He can't push into it, he can't — 

He can't stop himself from clenching and clenching and — begging.

Begging with his body. Needing with his body — 

Those *lips* — 

That — *kiss* — 

(It's yours, amant — and so is this,) Jason says, and dips his tongue *in* — 

So wet — 

So — 

Somehow still so *hot*, and he has to give himself to the heat, doesn't he? He's not allowed to run away, he's not allowed — 

Good soldiers keep themselves warm, give over, bend down, give — 

He wants to *groan* — 

(I hear you, mon amant. I hear you and it's beautiful,) Jason says, and — fucks him. 

With his tongue — 

With his — 

And then there's a growl from somewhere, everywhere, *anywhere* but the throat of the man *having* him — 

Pressing down on him — 

Flattening him to the sheets — 

Making him — quiver — 

And every *tremble* rocks through Treville, works through him, makes him want to grit his teeth and — 

But he has to — 

It's heat, you give in to heat — 

(That's right. Good soldier.) 

He's a good — he's — 

He won't disobey — 

(No, you won't. I'll help you. I'll always help you,) Jason says, and his voice is... bigger, somehow. Darker. Stranger and stronger and — 

And then his tongue is deeper — 

And deeper — 

And — 

And Treville has done this, too, but he's never felt it, never known, never — 

He's sweating desperately, slick and twitching and quivering and clenching and none of it stops, none of it — 

He can't — 

He *can't* — 

Random muscles in his arms and back are *jumping* with the need to *move*, to *writhe*, but he can't — 

He's — 

Helpless. 

Helpless. 

He's *helpless*, and the pleasure doesn't stop, nothing *stops*, nothing *ends*, nothing — *excoriates* him for his failures — 

He's *helpless* — 

Jason... Jason, *please*! 

And, for a moment, the massive, thick, *long* tongue inside him *pauses* — 

The heavy growls pressing in on him from all sides *pause* — 

And then Jason laughs, low and hungry and *dirty*. (And if I'd like to rape you anyway, amant?) 

There's a sound — 

A belling *bark* — and Treville realizes the mask is off, that it's *been* off for some length of time, that — 

That he's *breathing* — 

He groans — 

He *sobs* and groans — 

He can't bloody stop *quivering* — 

(Don't try.) 

Don't don't don't — 

(Don't. Try,) Jason says again, and *whips* his tongue inside Tréville — 

Treville's mouth falls open — 

He claws at the bed with his fingers and toes — 

He's — 

He's *got* to be leaving a *puddle* of slick — 

(You are. The scents are maddening. Let me rape you. Let me do everything to you that you'd never, ever ask for.) 

And that — 

It's not a recruit's job to ask for anything but more *discipline* — if that. 

(That's right...) 

He's not *supposed* to ask — 

(No, you're not.) 

Treville *whines* as he feels himself — fall. 

Just — 

"Please. Please rape me, and —" 

There's a gag in his mouth immediately — it doesn't choke him, just shuts his gob. 

And then Jason is fucking him with his tongue again, fast, *fast*, and a tongue that thick can feel *exactly* that hard — 

He's free enough now to *writhe* in his restraints — 

He's free enough to drool and *groan* around his gag — 

He's free, and that's — that's *terrifying* — 

He shudders, tenses — 

And then *something* is sliding-slipping-*forcing* its way into his arse *next* to Jason's tongue — 

It's — 

It's — 

Stretching — 

(It's a shadow, amant. Let's make it bigger.) 

No — wait — 

But it — grows. 

And grows — 

It's slick and *giving*, but it's not — 

It's stretching him *wide* — 

Treville *yells* around his gag — 

Balls his fists and tries to clench, tries to crawl *away* — he can't. He can't. 

He's still *tied* at the wrists and ankles and — 

(No, I think a bit bigger, still....) 

JASON — 

The shadow *flexes* bigger — 

Treville *screams* — and spurts. Just — 

Just — 

He screams and screams and — 

There are *tears* in his eyes and — 

And every part of him is on *fire* as his cock spurts and spurts and — 

And then Jason starts to fuck him. 

Starts — 

His tongue and the shadow. 

His tongue and then the shadow and then his tongue again — 

Again — 

Treville spurts again and slumps — 

Sobs — 

*Gasps* around the gag — 

(There's a good boy.) 

Jason — I can't — I *can't* — 

(Shh. You don't get to decide what you can and cannot do anymore, amant. Not until I'm done with you.) 

And it makes something in Treville's mind *stop* — 

Slam hard into something *harder* — 

Fall. 

Fall *deeper*, and he hadn't thought there *was* a deeper —- 

(There always is,) Jason says, and starts to fuck him *faster* — 

Treville *grunts* — 

His — 

His eyes roll *up* — 

(Does it hurt, amant...?) 

It — it aches — 

(Do you like it?) 

I'm afraid — 

(Such a brave, honest hound. But. Do you *like* it.) 

I don't know. I don't know —

(Let's try this,) Jason says, and the shadow *changes* inside him — 

Flexes and curves and — 

And hits his pleasure-button — 

Treville's cock twitches too *soon* — 

He barks and *whines* — 

His eyes are *wide* — 

(Yes, I believe this is *precisely* what we want,) Jason says, and — fucks him — 

And fucks him — 

And *rams* the shadow against his pleasure-button again and again and — 

Treville barks and *howls* — 

Loses — 

*Howls* — 

He's shoving himself against the *sheets* and he's — 

There's drool running down his chin and he's — 

And Jason *yanks* his long tongue out — 

All the way out — 

Treville clenches and *screams* — 

His cock *spits* slick — 

"Such an excellent hound," he says, and smacks Treville's *arse* — 

Treville *coughs* through a bark — 

The shadow is still *reaming* him — 

He can't — 

"You can," Jason says, and starts — spanking him. 

Spanking him like a *child* — 

Treville blushes hard and tries to find some way to — 

"If you protest, amant, you will suffer." 

Treville's cock — jerks. 

Jason laughs and smacks Treville's right arsecheek over and over and *over* — "Aren't you the little pain-slut. We can play with that... on *your* time," he says, and the shadow is suddenly gone — 

No!

"Really." And, this time when Jason spanks him, all Treville can feel is how empty he is, how — 

How *empty* — 

Treville flushes and blushes and — 

Fuck — 

*Fuck* — 

"Do you want to lift your arse for me, amant...?" 

Treville *gasps* around the gag and *stares* — 

"Do you want to be my pretty little bitch...?" 

He starts to shake his head — 

He's not — 

He's *not* — 

"That's not what *I* think," Jason says, and shadows *yank* him up onto his face and *knees* — 

And then leave him there. 

Just — 

Treville tenses hard and tries not to — 

"Oh, that won't do," Jason says, and the gag grows down his *throat* — 

Treville *bucks* — 

Tosses his head — 

Leaks and leaks and — 

Falls — 

"Good boy," Jason says, and Treville is aware that Jason is behind him, that Jason is there, that Jason is close — 

Won't leave him — 

"Never," Jason says, and — spreads him — 

Spreads him so wide — 

"You look much more *used* now, amant. I feel my job here is... well begun." 

Treville groans in his chest — 

Tries to hitch in a breath — 

And then the gag starts to fuck him, starts to — 

And he can't help dreaming of Kitos, of all the times he's wanted *that* cock in his throat, that huge hand in his hair, that — 

The gag grows — 

So big — 

So *big* — 

Treville shudders and swallows and swallows and *swallows* — 

The gag gets *warmer* — 

Starts to *leak* — 

*What* is it leaking — 

"My slick," Jason says, and laughs. "Take it all..." 

Yes — *yes* — 

"And take this, too," he says, and — 

And that's his cock, that's his thick, hard, *hot* cock — 

Hotter even than the gag, hotter than flesh should *get* — 

Treville groans and *shudders* — 

Clenches helplessly — and he always *stops* when his boys clench up too tight before the head of his cock is all the way in, he always — 

But Jason just pushes, forces — 

*Rapes* — 

"That's right, amant. That's what you've — mm. Earned. That's what I *want*," he says, and pushes *harder* — 

He feels so *huge* — 

"I didn't prepare you very much, if — if you'll — recall —" 

*Please*! 

"What are you begging for? Hm? You *might* get it." 

Don't — don't — 

"I'm afraid. You'll have to be. More. *Specific*," Jason says, and *shoves* — 

Treville tries and fails to *scream* — 

He's *full* — 

He's full at both *ends* — 

He's never — he's barely had this *fantasy* — 

"Barely...? Who was it. Hm? Kitos and Laurent? Kitos and Reynard? All of them in —" Jason growls and *swivels* his *hips* — "*Rotating* combinations?" 

*Don't* — 

"*You* don't get to stop me, amant. But — mm. It's true we have — have other — *concerns*, oh, amant, your arse is so *sweet*," Jason says, and pulls out most of the way — 

Treville throws his head back — 

"*There's* an idea —" And Jason *lashes* a shadow around Treville's throat — 

Throws a *lead* on him — 

Chokes him in two different — 

Slams *in* — 

Treville *howls* inside, *inside*, and he can't — 

He *can't* — 

"You can do *one* thing, amant, and that's — *take* it," Jason says, and starts to *thrust*, fast and hard and — 

And *dragging* his cock against Treville's pleasure-button every time — 

Yanking his head back by the chin — 

Fucking his throat with the gag — 

He can't *breathe* again — 

He can't think and he can't see and he's so full, so full, so *fucked* and so full, and he's wanted this, he's wanted this — 

"Nnh — for the *boys* you've had? You've wanted to share your — your little treasures — oh, with *Reynard*, *especially*. Mm. You wanted him to fill their soft little *mouths* —" 

Treville's cock *jerks* — 

To hear that *aloud* — 

Just — 

"But not Kitos? Laurent? No, I see not. Fascinating," Jason says, and shoves *in* — 

*In* — 

"You wanted *Laurent* to *punish* you for — for all your little *failings* — nnh — *nnh* — I believe I'm jealous. Is his cock very — oh, it *is* big. Lovely. Perhaps I'll talk him into *whipping* you someday," Jason says, clawing Treville's flanks and swiveling his hips again — 

Shoving in *harder* — 

Treville squeezes his *eyes* shut — 

Tries not to *imagine* Laurent having him, hurting him — 

Hurting him with Jason's *help* — 

Using the handle of the whip to *bugger* him — 

"Ah, you need something less *forgiving*," Jason says, and *reams* him — 

Fucks him hard and fast and — 

And he's panting, growling, clawing him again and *again* — 

The room is getting darker — 

Everything is — 

Flashes — 

Laurent's hand on his face — 

Jason's hand on his cock — 

Kitos's hand on his throat — 

Reynard's mouth on his, so soft, so soft, so *slick* with spit and his smile — 

("Toujours frères!") 

And the only thing to do was kiss him back, both cheeks, the corners of his mouth, his mouth — 

Their tongues had touched, bright as a thunderclap, sweet as the wine — 

And they'd broken apart, only to do it again the next night, and the next, and the *next* — 

And Kitos had laughed and cuddled him so close, squeezed him tight — 

("Not like I can let my Basset-shaped lapdog get away from me...") 

And he'd been too drunk to move, too happy to care, too warm, too *warm* — 

("That's right, burrow right in and sleep, Basset. You need it...") 

And Laurent's eyes had been so wild as he'd leaned across the small space between their armchairs in his study, as he'd whispered about how much he *missed* — 

("Oh, brother, but being close to you, having your scent —" 

"Laurent?" 

"But Marie-Angelique is so beautiful, so soft and — and *lush* —" 

"Yes —" 

"I shouldn't be greedy...") 

And Jason is tossing his beautiful hair — 

Laughing richly and filthily — 

Warring at his side liked they'd been brothers for *decades* — 

Promising not to push Treville at his brothers, promising to stop pushing Treville *away* from *him*, and lying with every word, because — 

Because there's something in him that makes him think he's not worth it, because — 

Because there's something in him that wants only the best things for Treville, and fuck, fuck — 

Treville... falls. 

Just — falls. 

Goes loose and gives, because it's clear, it's all clear, and Jason was right all along, Jason knows everything, Jason *gives* everything, Jason — 

Oh, Jason... 

And every part of Treville can feel Jason — opening to him. Feeling *him*, *seeing* Treville and everything he wants, everything he *needs* from Jason — 

And making a decision. 

"*Oh*, yes, amant," Jason says, panting and *still*, so — "That was — perfectly lovely. Now I think you need to spend again." 

Anything, anything — 

"Anything. Anything for me...?" 

Yes!

Another flat and *flattening* growl — 

Treville's ears twitch — 

Treville cock *aches* — 

He needs — he needs more — 

He needs so much more — 

"Oh, amant —" Jason *pants* again. "I can deny you *nothing*," he says, and the collar around Treville's throat solidifies, changes, gains *weight* — 

Treville's head *drops* to the bed — 

"*Stay*," Jason says, and gripping Treville's hips and — riding him. 

Just — 

*Riding* him — 

So hard — 

So *hard* — 

Treville *sobs* — and realizes the gag is out, realizes — 

He gasps — 

He tries to say Jason's *name* — but then Jason starts ramming Treville's swollen pleasure-button again, and the only thing that comes out are sobbing croons, desperate and needy, hungry, *animal*, so *animal* — 

He's sweating and aching — 

He's — 

He wants something to touch his *cock* even if it *hurts* — 

Jason *grunts* — 

His rhythm stutters — 

And then there's a shadow coiling around and around Treville's cock — 

Squeezing — 

*Pulsing* — 

Pressing at his *slit* — 

Pushing — 

In — and it feels like Treville's eyes are bulging out of his head, feels like — 

He can't — 

He's *choking* on his own howls, his own — 

His own *screams* — 

It feels like he's spending in the wrong *direction* — and Jason is still fucking him, panting and growling and — 

And his thrusts are getting so ragged, so — 

So *hard* and *ragged* — 

"Amant — *amant* —" 

Treville opens his mouth to answer — he *sobs* — 

"Oh — oh, you — *brother*." 

Treville *howls*, and his body is trying and trying to spend, clenching and jerking and — 

He can't — 

The *thing* inside his cock won't *let* him — 

"You'll spend when I *let* you, amant," Jason says, fucking him harder, *wilder* — 

Treville howls again — 

Grinds his sweaty, hot face in against the sheets — 

The shadow in his cock *swells* — 

He *barks* — 

Jason thrusts in off-rhythm, violent, *rough* — "Ah — ah, Hecate's *cunt* — I can't — I —" And then he *covers* Treville — 

Bites the back of Treville's neck — 

Treville's heart *leaps* into his throat — 

His cock jerks and tries to — 

It feels like his whole *body* is howling — 

Every part of him is sweating, shaking, on *fire* — 

Jason bites *harder* — 

Draws *blood* — 

Treville's cock slaps his own *belly* — 

Jason *sucks* — and *rams* in, spasming and spurting and spurting and — 

Filling him up hot and sweet and so — 

Treville croons *desperately* — 

He can't stop, he needs to — 

"Jason, please, *please* let me spend!" 

(Good. Boy!) 

And Jason *yanks* the shadow out of Treville's cock — 

Treville screams so hard his *voice* cracks — and it feels like Jason is yanking the spend out of him, too, one convulsive *pulse* at a time. 

Treville can't *stop* screaming — 

There's just so *much* — 

He's wetting down the *bed* — 

And then shadows wrap round his bollocks like a vise and *pump*, and — 

Black. 

Black...


	6. *About* why he's alive...

Jason had, of course, taken every opportunity to molest Treville while he was unconscious. 

In all honesty, it had felt like keeping a promise to fuck Treville's slack body until his cock had softened enough to make pulling out *less* of a hardship — 

To wrap Treville tightly in shadows while using still other shadows to collect his spend for a rainy day — 

To *unwrap* him slowly and lovingly and then... touch. 

Touch him everywhere. 

Those problematic nipples. 

His shallow dip of a navel — he licks there for the sweat and mild musk. 

His moderately-brutalized toes. 

His welted balls — hmm. Perhaps he'd squeezed too tightly at the end. *Perhaps*. 

Jason sucks those in apology... 

And then just because. 

They are very, very lovely balls — more furred than hairy — and quite big and heavy. 

Such a well-put-together young man. 

Such... wealth. 

Jason keeps sucking as Treville begins to moan — the sounds are, as yet, soft and distant, and his mind is still decidedly elsewhere. 

He's dreaming of being warm. 

He's dreaming of being loved. 

Jason swallows. There's nothing inaccurate about that in the least. 

_It will never cease to amaze me how *precipitous* you can be with your... affairs, Blood._

Have we not learned the importance of not wasting time, my companion? 

Etrigan's laugh is a belch of hellfire, warm and warming. 

An acknowledgment of a fundamental truth — and Treville's hand has made it to Jason's hair. 

Mm. 

It's not shaking, but it's also not gripping. Soft strokes only — appreciative petting to go along with his soft, sweet moans. 

Is he thinking of his Reynard? 

Of love and *softness* with the man he's been in love with for — 

(Reynard would send me... to the surgeons if I touched him this gently...) 

And there's the blue *flare* of Treville accessing his power — 

So *soon* — 

(You have my apologies, but —) 

Jason pulls back — 

And Treville sits up on his elbows, smiling wryly and — beautifully. 

Softly. 

The years of grief and pain are written all over him, but everything has been made so much...

"Are you honestly *wondering* that I feel *better*, Jason?" And up goes that eyebrow. 

"I'm wondering at *you*, amant," Jason says, and puts absolutely everything into his voice. 

Treville's lips part — 

And he blushes like a boy. 

Like...

"You've not felt *this* before. Have you," Jason says, and pushes him back down gently, gently — 

Strokes him — 

Warms him with his hands — 

*Strokes* him — 

"You've not felt *confident* in the love of another man." 

Treville shivers — "No. I haven't." 

"I'm honoured." 

"You — *Jason* —" 

Jason laughs softly and massages him, gentles him — 

"Did you want me to be a puddle?" 

"Perhaps *leave* a puddle... or three..." 

Treville snickers — 

He's still blushing — 

His heart is pounding. 

"Are you afraid, mon amant?" 

"You know I am —" 

"Perhaps I simply crave every moment of your breathtaking honesty," Jason says, and cups Treville's furry balls again — 

Treville moans. "You — you can always —" 

"Have it? Thank you." 

Treville moans and squeezes his eyes shut — 

Tenses — 

And Jason moves his hands to Treville's thighs. "We need not talk of love, mon amant." 

"Every word out of your mouth — the look in your *eyes* —" 

Jason inhales sharply. "It's... too much?" 

"It's too much not to — not to..." 

"What do you *need*, amant?" 

Treville pants — 

Groans — 

"Just — don't stop. Don't — *fucking* stop —" 

Jason *grunts* and *flushes* — 

"Oh, fuck — oh, fuck, you honestly thought I was going to push you *away*?" 

"I'm — I'm accustomed —" 

"Please — please come *here*," Treville says, starting to sit up again — 

Jason shoves him *down* — and kisses him — 

And kisses him — 

And slips his tongue deep and deep and *deeper* — 

(Ah, *fuck* —) 

I want to taste every part of you — 

(It feels like you want to taste my *organs* —) 

We did talk about me and offal...

And Treville laughs, snickering into the kiss; sucks Jason's tongue and then snickers more; rolls his strong, hard body up beneath Jason's own — 

Jason pulls back — 

"Wait —" 

"Will you let me *come* to you again?" 

Treville looks honestly *stunned*. 

Jason's heart *seizes* — 

"Come all the bloody *time*. I — teach me how to get to *you* —" 

Jason growls too much, too loud, too — 

The shadows are *taking* the room and much of the *manor* — 

He wants to swallow Treville *whole* and every part of his magic *knows* it — 

"*Fuck* —" 

And he bites Treville's throat again, bites hard, *hard* — 

"Yes — *yes* —" And Treville groans and goes *loose*, open, *giving* — 

Jason's growl gets *harder* — but. 

But. 

He can pull it back. 

Breathe his shadows *in* — 

"Jason — Jason?" 

Jason releases the bite and kisses it, *sucks* it. 

"Fuck —" 

"I have... there's more I need to tell you. About myself." And Jason kneels up between Treville's legs, resting his hands on his own thighs.

Treville blinks at him for long moments — and then his pale blue eyes turn steely and hard. "Are you about to warn me away from you again?" 

"No — I. I only wish to allow you to make *informed* choices, amant."

"I know what I need to —" 

"And... I wish for you to know me." 

Treville takes a breath — and licks his lips. "I like that reason better," he says, and sits up on his elbows again. "Tell me everything. *Give* me everything." 

Jason *pants* — "Amant..." 

"Tell me..." And Treville licks his lips — and much of his face. "Tell me who *I* belong to." 

Jason *shifts*, sudden and uncontrolled — 

He hadn't meant — 

He'd wanted to *tell* Treville about this form before *showing* — 

"Well." 

Jason growls helplessly. 

"Well, you have a mane now. And a lot of needle teeth. A bit cat-like, but that's all right. And the ears — I like the ears. Pointy. Are they sensitive?" 

Jason blinks. 

"And... I don't know if I'd call that a muzzle. I mean, *I* have a muzzle." 

Jason... continues to blink.

"You're *colder* — how the bloody hell does *that* work?" 

This... is the shadow-form. The shadow's form.

"You say that like the shadow isn't — you. Are you possessed by something *else*?" 

It's more that hundreds of years of enmity and warring between a powerful blood mage and a powerful fire demon who happen to be sharing the same soul... creates things. Things that are... other. 

Treville nods thoughtfully. Looks down. "No knot." 

I'm... sorry? 

"Nobody's perfect," Treville says, and winks. "You can't talk, at all, in that form, can you?" 

"Not human languages," Jason says, in the shadow's tongue. 

"All right, *that* made my bollocks creep." 

I noticed. I'm very sad about it. 

Treville nods regretfully. "I'll work on that." 

You don't — 

"Have to? Of course I don't. I also don't have to be fucked by every last *iteration* of you. But, strangely enough, I've found myself *deeply* in favour of doing every last possible thing that gives me *pleasure* and *comfort* and *love*," Treville says, and *looks* at him. 

Jason — growls — 

No — 

He pants until he can breathe — 

Until he can breathe in — 

And twist and shake and *change* himself — 

Back. 

"There you are," Treville says. "What else." 

Jason stares into Treville's level gaze — 

His — 

His patient and hungry and — "You must know that I would do anything for you, at any time." 

Treville narrows his eyes — and grins. "The feeling is mutual. Brother." 

And that word from *this* man — 

That *particular* claim — 

Jason shudders — "I will not let you go — so easily." 

Treville's grin turns sharp. Measuring. *Knowing*. He cocks his head to the side — "Or at all?" 

Jason... heats. "Immortality is a curious thing, amant..." 

Treville's grin slips — but only for a moment before it gets even harder. "*Loneliness* isn't curious, at all." 

Jason *burns* — "*We* need never be lonely again, amant." 

And Treville's sharpness — goes. His eyes widen — 

His heart pounds — 

"Not... not ever," Treville says, and laughs like a boy. 

Jason groans and *grips* at his own thighs — 

Wants — 

Wants exactly what he has. 

"Yes — yes —" 

And Jason — dreams. 

Dreams of taking Treville back to *his* home — 

Dreams of taking Treville on every *mission* he takes for himself — 

Dreams of teaching, showing, *loving* — 

And Treville stares up at him... wonderingly. 

"I know — I know I can't take you —" 

"Sometimes. I'll be able to... Laurent is generous with me." 

Jason shudders. "He *loves* you —" 

"I know." 

"You have to *do* something about —" 

"I will," Treville says, sitting up further and cupping Jason's face — 

Shoving his hands into Jason's hair and *yanking* him into a kiss — 

Hard, beautiful — too *brief* — 

"Amant —" 

"I'll take your *advice*, lover. And then I'll still be right here for you." 

Jason *flushes* — 

Shudders and — 

"I'm afraid." 

"I know. But — I'm worth exactly as much as you think I am, lover. I *don't* let my brothers down. Not ever. Not *ever*," and Treville's growling like the great hound he is, licking Jason's cheek — 

"Yes — fuck — *yes* —" 

"I'll *be* here — and I'll let you take me absolutely anywhere." 

Jason pants — 

Crushes his face against Treville's cheek — 

Nuzzles and *bites* — 

Treville rumbles and rumbles — 

Pulls at Jason's hair with one hand and winds a great *hank* of it around the other — 

Jason will never *cut* it — 

Treville licks his ear, his throat — "You can cut it..."

"*Really*." 

"If you want to break my heart..." 

Jason laughs helplessly, too long, more than the sally was *worth* — 

He has to get *control* of himself — 

This is *ridiculous* — 

"You were dying in pieces on my turnip field this morning, Jason, and now we've just agreed to embark on an *extremely* long-term relationship — which I'm guessing is something you haven't done in a while. —" 

"Oh... just a little while..." And Jason laughs harder —

And Treville takes one hand out of his hair — 

"Don't *do* that —" 

And wraps his arm around Jason, holds him tight, squeezes him *tight* — 

"Oh — shrieking *banshees*, that feels wonderful —" 

"You feel bloody perfect —" 

"I wouldn't — I wouldn't, if we weren't kin — if I hadn't —" 

"Corrupted me. *Tainted* me. I picked that one up, Jason," Treville says, and pauses to *cuff* him lightly — 

Jason *coughs* a laugh — "I only —" 

Treville squeezes him again, and then pulls back enough that they can face each other. "You don't want me to be *surprised*. You don't want me to be *nastily* surprised, and look at you in horror, and back away — you may have guessed that I know a little about that." 

"You were never dark, never — never *corrupt* —" 

"No, I wasn't. And one day I might even *believe* that —" 

"*Amant* —" 

"But... you *were* corrupt. You *were* dark. You've done at least one truly terrible thing, one — something that shamed you. Something that made you feel *less* —" 

"I." 

"But you did it in the *past*, and you've spent *centuries* making amends, *and* you would never, *could* never do it again —" 

Jason snarls — "*Never*!" 

"Right. You're a different person. You started over. You *made* yourself a different person. I know a lot of men who've done that — in one way or another." 

And *now* his amant is thinking of Reynard, and the great, gaping holes of his past —

His military service before becoming a Musketeer, and how what Treville *does* know about it is all terrible, all soaked in blood and pain and dishonour. 

It... "He was forced to kill his own fellow soldiers?" 

"To *protect* other fellow soldiers." 

Jason nods thoughtfully. "And it didn't always — or often — work." 

"His regiment was..." Treville shakes his head. "Rotten from the top down. They've taken so many losses, been beaten so many *times*... their morale is nonexistent. If Louis had a brain in his head, he'd disband them and start over, perhaps cherry-picking from *us* to do it. But..."

"Amant. Are *you* a King's man?" 

"I fight for my brothers, and for France." 

"In that order?" 

"Of course. Though... Henri wasn't half bad." 

Jason smiles and strokes Treville's cheek. "I've heard that about him. I..." The smile falls off his face. 

Treville nods and grips him — and his *hair* — that much tighter. "Tell me." 

Jason nods back. "Merlin bought my life, not my acceptance. Men — many men — died rather than seek out my healing, after... after." 

"Ah — fuck. Go on." 

"It got to the point where I would have to seek the wounded men out and... force myself on them. Most of them didn't thank me for it. Most of them..." 

Jason shakes his head. 

"I grew bitter. Lonely. *Angry*. Ser Darwyn, who had taught and trained and *raised* me from the time I was a boy, who had introduced me to *lovemaking*, who had accepted me even after I came back 'from the dead'... well. He'd finally taken too many injuries, and grown too old to heal from them, even with my help. He was too ill to ride with us, and it was too much to ask such a proud man to ride in a *cart*. My future stretched emptily before me, and I... I even considered desertion." 

Treville winces. 

"Yes. I... yes," Jason says, and shakes his head once. "But I did my duties — those which could be done alone — and I continued on my way... until she came. Morgan." 

Treville inhales sharply. 

Jason smiles darkly. "None of us knew she was Arthur's sister, at first. We *all* knew she was Arthur's lover. I managed to wait... some time before falling into bed with her. And she was... she was..." 

"You fell in love with her." 

"Yes, of course, but you must understand that that came later. *After* the realization that she'd been hiding the strength of her magery — that she was *capable* of hiding it from even Merlin, but that she was trusting me with it. *After* the realization that I was a provincial *fool* when it came to lovemaking, and hadn't even dreamed a *fraction* of the things the two of us could — and did — do together. After the need, sudden and sharp and *vindictive*, to *take* her. 

"To make our affair more than a dalliance. To make it..." 

"Your suicide?" 

"What did I have left, amant? If I could spit in all those *good*, *pure* knights' eyes one last time, if I could take — ruin — the mistress of the *King*? Well, then. *That* would be a worthy way to die." 

Treville nods, wincing again. "There was... a cold wind blowing through you." 

Jason shudders and looks down. 

"It never stopped. It never let you take a breath without freezing you even *more*. Right?" 

Jason *pants* — and looks up. "She was — heat. She was brilliant, and witty, and *sharp*. Every conversation with her took me away from the *emptiness* inside me, and I *craved* her. When I finally recognized that she had no love — no true love — in her heart for anyone but her son by Arthur... 

"I raised it to a virtue. I made her my Madonna, and told myself that, gradually, my own love and acceptance would warm her to me." 

"Did it?" 

"It seemed to — enough. She wasn't unkind. She was a companion and a *teacher* — everything I'd wanted Merlin to be — and that felt enough like 'friend' and 'lover' that I was mollified. Calmed. *Soothed*.

"She never spoke treason directly to me — as opposed to encouraging me to describe and lay out my many hurts at the hands my erstwhile brothers. 

"She never disclosed *anything* like her *plans* — though Mordred would make the occasional comment about demons that I would ignore as the natter of a spoiled child." Jason snorts. "She caught me easily when the time came. Arthur's men were *deeply* outmatched, and there were eldritch forces aligned against them, this time, as well. 

"Merlin had his hands full — until he fell. Arthur's forces — *our* forces — were being overrun, and... 

"For a moment — a long one — I was nothing but glad. Bitterly, hungrily *glad*." 

Treville makes a small sound and pulls Jason's hair, hard and slow and *directed* — oh. He had looked away. 

Jason looks back into Treville's eyes — 

His own eyes are wet. 

"You were younger than I am now, weren't you." 

"I — I'm not particularly *good* at estimating —" 

"I'm twenty-eight." 

"I was eighteen when I took the flail to the face. I was nineteen when Morgan came. I. I was twenty-one when the end —" Jason shakes his head. "I was a *man* —" 

"Men need family — more than you *had* — in order to grow up *properly*." 

Jason grunts — 

"Are you going to *argue* that?" 

"I don't want you to *excuse* me — I. Would you want that in my position?" 

"Of course not. But I'd need it," Treville says, and raises both eyebrows. 

Jason licks his lips and — tucks that away for the time being — 

"You do that, lover." 

Jason *clutches* Treville — "I ran to Morgan for *help*... and she trussed me up, bled me, forced me to consume various terrible things — corrupting the *vessel* of my body — and summoned Etrigan *into* me. He was supposed to take over utterly — killing me while still being enslaved to her. 

"We recognized the problematic nature of that outcome, and Etrigan kept me alive so that I could help him fight Morgan. We..." Jason hears himself swallow with a click. "We tore her apart. I forgot, utterly, about the battle. The war. Our *cause*. 

"All I could think — I'd been hurt. Betrayed. 

"All I could think was that my one refuge away from loneliness had proven to be a lie. I was... lost —" 

"You were grieving." 

"*Treville*." 

"I know you *think* you have better words for it, Jason, but... you don't. And if you can't trust me on that — and you've had six hundred years with this suffering, so I'm going to guess that you can't — trust me to *see* it that way, and continue to see it that way." 

Jason *stares* — 

"I *promise* —" 

"Amant — Treville — I *ate* my lover!" 

"One, you ate your betrayer. Your *enemy*. Two, I'm a *dog*, and the only reason I didn't swallow any bits of Guillou today is because he tasted like his *victims*." 

"You... are making it difficult not to kidnap and imprison you," Jason says, sitting back on his heels and laughing hard as he covers his face. 

Treville releases him after a pause. "Do you do that often?" 

"Only — only with the people who ask to be my students. The things I teach..." And Jason drags his hands down off his face. "It's dangerous for them to be alone when they're *half*-trained. It's even more dangerous for them to be alone with loved ones." 

"And you're greedy." 

"*Fathomlessly*," Jason says, laughing ruefully and staring into his beautiful, magnificent, *wise* lover's eyes. "When I see an opportunity — like a beautiful mage in need of teaching, but who is lacking in connections — I take it." 

Treville cups his shoulders and studies him. 

"Nearly everyone has connections of *some* kind, amant." 

"And you're the kind of man who *looks* for reasons to pin his cock back —" 

"I —" 

"Right. No, I understand why, now. The battlefield must've been a horror when you finally got back to it —"

"The crows had come," Jason says, and — can't. 

He can't say anything else. 

He doesn't have to — Treville knows all about dreams of family and belonging and hope and love turning into ashes and rotting meat. 

"That I do. Let's leave it. I *do* know you better than I did twenty minutes ago, and I *absolutely* understand your most annoying habit —" 

Jason snorts and *flattens* Treville to the bed — 

Treville grins — "It's *progress*." 

Jason — breathes. And looks over his feast of a lover. "Let me lie with you." 

"*Absolutely*. We'll have one of my servants bring us a late lunch and be positively *indolent*."


	7. In which no one howls alone in the dark.

Jason blinks — "Do you like that?" 

And Treville has to smile wryly. "Usually? No. But..." 

"There are exceptions to every rule. Yes, I see..." 

Treville searches him a little. "Do you?" 

"You've wanted to pamper a lover," Jason says, and grins. 

Treville blushes helplessly — "Yes. *Yes*." 

Jason laughs with — delight. And floats the silver bell closer to Treville's right hand with a shadow. "By all means, amant. Pamper me *silly*." 

That's more than worth a laugh — 

A bit of a wrestle —

The bell is still *floating* — 

Jason is *teasing* at his bollocks with more shadows, and that's bloody *distracting* — 

"It is *good* to hear you laugh, cher, but you will tell me why, for the first time since we have *known* each other, your retainers tried to *resist* me taking up your food for — for." And that. 

Treville turns to find Reynard *frozen* in his bedroom doorway, dressed in his leathers, still *windblown* — 

His hair is mussed from the ride, partially out of its thong — 

His — 

And he is staring just as much as Treville is. 

He is... 

Treville looks back to the *extremely* naked mage beneath him — 

"All right, you can *both* pamper me," Jason says. 

Treville *coughs* a laugh — 

Squeezes Jason's shoulders hard — 

(Shall I go before or *after* you introduce me, amant...?) 

I — I... 

Jason pushes them both upright, glamours himself dressed, and stands off the bed. "Jason Blood, at your service." 

Reynard lifts his chin slightly, sets the tray down on one of the tables, and studies Jason for a long moment. "Reynard," he says, and offers his hand.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Treville has told me much about you." 

"Has he," Reynard says, and his eyes are — hot. 

Dangerous. 

And, now that Jason has pulled years worth of blinkers off Treville's face — jealous. 

For a moment, Treville is at an utter loss. He has no *idea* what to — 

But. 

But.... 

It's not like Reynard has never been jealous of his time and attention before. 

It's not like Reynard has never needed his *reassurance* before. 

It's only that it's never been quite so clear to *Treville* that that was what he was doing, and — 

And he gets up, and crosses the room quick — 

And cups Reynard's beautiful face — 

Beloved *face* — 

"*Meneur* —" 

"Toujours frères." 

"Ah, oui?" And Reynard's pale olive eyes are still *hot* even though he isn't pulling away from Treville's touch. "Brothers *share* *information*." 

"Jason and I only just met today." 

"And yet you told him much of *me*?" 

"We've spent a long time talking of love," Treville says, and doesn't soften his words with a smile, however wry. He just looks at Reynard, *into* Reynard — 

Who flushes. 

And *looks* at Jason — 

Jason has his hands folded in front of him and a look of polite and *gentle* interest on his face — 

And there's a wall hiding the roil of *his* feelings from Reynard, if not from Treville. How the man could ever speak about other people's 'breathtaking honesty'...

More is needed. 

(Not truly —) 

I'm always going to need you, Treville says to Jason — 

(You —) 

I'm not always the most graceful and deft of men, Jason. I *am* faithful.

And there's heat inside him that's not his own — 

A *grip* on his *spirit* — 

"Meneur..." 

And the grip doesn't fade *entirely* when Treville *strokes* Reynard's cheek — which is better than he has any right to expect.

Reynard *shivers*, eyes widening — and the part of Treville that's telling him to press an *attack* is... new and not new. 

New for *Reynard*, too, because he has to be able see, feel, *taste* Treville looking *into* him. 

This — 

Everything is *open* inside of him — 

Everything is *clear* now, like looking out over open territory from a ridge *after* also having studied maps. This — 

Reynard desires him. Reynard *loves* him and *wants* him and — 

But he can't listen to all of that, *yet*. He has to smooth this over. Treville strokes Reynard's cheek one more time and lowers his hand. "Jason is a mage who needed my assistance this morning —" 

Jason snorts. "Your ringleader saved my *life* this morning." 

"You hardly needed any of *my* help —"

"Treville." 

Not amant...? 

(I'm being politic. *Something* tells me I should. If, however, you tell me that I should *not*...) 

This... is new territory. Even though it isn't. 

(I understand,) Jason says and turns to Reynard. "I owe your Treville... countless favours. He asked for *one*." 

And Reynard — could feel some of that. Could feel the *communication*.

How much is a question, but it was definitely *enough* to make him uncomfortable. *Upset*. 

His hands are creeping toward his pistols — 

And then they're absolutely not, and Treville *knows* Reynard is remembering every lesson he's given the man about respecting the mages Treville shows respect to — and he's growling. "What *favour*, meneur. What did this mage *do* for you — other than what I can guess?" 

And that — was another *invitation* for an attack — and other things entirely. 

But it's still not time. 

It's — 

"He helped me find Guillou." 

Reynard grunts and rears back. "He — you — the *death*-mage?" 

Treville smiles wryly. "We did for him —" 

"Without *me*? Without Kitos and — well, perhaps not Laurent; he is the Captain, he must keep his hands *clean* —" Reynard growls. "*Meneur*! You *know* —" 

Treville raises his hands for peace. "I would've had to go alone, otherwise —" 

"*Non* —" 

"You couldn't have *fought* him, brother —" 

Reynard *snarls* — "I would have done *anything* to fight this battle with you! She was my friend, *too*!"

"And if his shades had ripped you apart? Ripped your *soul* apart? If his — his *revenants* had torn you *open* while I was busy —" 

"I would have paid that price gladly a *thousand* times!" 

*Treville* snarls — "*Not* me!" 

"It is not your —" 

"It *was* my choice, and it *was* my decision, and I would —" Treville snarls again and shudders and *shoves* Reynard against the jamb of the door with one hand, just. 

Letting Reynard feel him. 

Letting Reynard feel — his power. 

Reynard growls low and pushes back — subsides. "Mon frère is *stronger*." 

"Yes." 

"Because of your Jason?" 

*His* Jason — 

(Yours, amant.) 

Oh — yes. Treville leans in, and kisses Reynard's cheeks. 

Reynard gasps — 

"He is mine. And I'm his. The —" 

Reynard *grunts* — "Meneur —" 

"The same *way* that I'm yours, brother. The same way that I'm Kitos's, and Laurent's —" 

"No —" Reynard searches him — "*Non* — you — *non* — he has enchanted you, you've had no time, how —" 

"I fell in love with you in an *hour*, brother. I knew I'd need you *forever* — even after you pushed my hands from your beautiful body and told me you didn't want my kisses —" 

Reynard makes a sound like he's been *stabbed* — 

"And we both know that was a lie. Don't we?" 

"Cher — *cher* —"

Treville kisses Reynard's mouth softly. *Softly* — 

Reynard moans with desperate *force* — 

"Mon frère, ma *vie*. I would do *anything* for you — and that was true this morning, too, when I thought I'd spend the rest of our lives *aching* for you, *dreaming* of your touch and never bloody *having* it except in those teasing flashes when you were drunk and wild for —" 

Reynard kisses him — 

Whimpers into his mouth and licks his tongue and cups his face and — 

Shakes — 

Shakes all over his beautiful *body* — 

Treville grips him tight and kisses him *back* — 

And opens the connection between them for the first time — 

Opens and lets Reynard *feel* him — 

Reynard's knees buckle — 

Treville holds him *tighter* — 

(Ohn — *oh* — *meneur* — mon cher — you love me so *much* —) 

*Toujours* — 

(Bien-aimé — mais — you didn't know? Vraiment?) 

Your rejection burned brighter than anything *else*, Treville says, pulling out of the kiss — 

"Non — s'il te plait —" 

"*Wait*," Treville says, and shows Reynard Jason. 

Shows Reynard Jason's pushing — 

His pulling and tugging and herding and *manipulation* — 

"He — he made you see," Reynard says, blinking and panting and — licking his lips. 

His broad mouth. 

"I — I didn't — mon cher, ma *vie*, I was *afraid*. I *am* afraid, and I — I promise I will tell you all of these things and *more*, but — first," Reynard says, and — pushes at Treville. 

Treville raises an eyebrow and backs off a step — 

And Reynard turns to Jason — and bows. 

Jason raises an eyebrow — and then bows back — 

He's gathered shadows round himself — 

There's a sense that he's already pulling away — 

Leaving this *space* — 

(You have business to attend to, amant,) Jason says — 

And Reynard gasps — Jason had pulled down the wall between them — but he doesn't pause. He doesn't — "He is your lover?" 

Jason breathes raggedly. "For as long as he desires." 

Reynard cocks his head to the side. "You do not think he will be your lover long after that?" 

Jason stares at Reynard for long, hungry moments — "He will be my lover when... when everything else is *dust*." 

Reynard nods. "Bien. You must not love mon frère, ma vie, with sweet *reason*." 

Jason raises an eyebrow — and some of the shadows peel back. "No...?" 

"*Non*. He is a man above all other men. He is..." And Reynard shudders. "You have seen this. You *have*." 

Jason's eyes *flash* red, bloody and *hot*. "While I was still in pieces in his — turnip field, did you say, mon amant?" 

"I did —" 

"Don't eat anything that grows there for at least a century." 

Treville *coughs*. "I'll make a *note*."

Reynard blinks. "A... century...?" 

Treville smiles wryly. "Jason's functionally immortal. He'd been outgunned badly this morning, but otherwise..." 

Reynard blinks rapidly and *stares* at Jason. 

Jason smiles ruefully and inclines his head. "It's a long story which our lover has had out of me. I have no problem whatsoever with him sharing it with *you* — or his other brothers, for that matter." 

Reynard lifts his chin again, this time in offer. "You are a generous man." 

"With the worthy." 

Reynard grins, eyes wide and wild and bright. "This is *good*." 

"I've always thought so —" 

"Now, tell me, tell me, did you begin seducing mon cher immediately?" 

"Well, I was in the process of *dying* when we *first* met, so I was a bit distracted —" 

"Ah, oui, oui, this can interrupt any man's technique." 

And Jason... smiles. And laughs, rich and bright. "Reynard. You're quite mad, aren't you." 

"So many have said this! I think it is only that I am high-spirited." 

"And violent?" 

"And *very* violent," Reynard says, swiveling his hips *while* stroking the butts of his pistols -—

"And wild?" 

"Ah, but who else could be a match for mon chien?" 

Jason cocks his head to the side... and smiles softly. "I'd like to be."

Reynard swallows and looks to *him* for a long moment, studying him and finding — 

Treville doesn't know. 

He doesn't — 

(I think, perhaps, you have not looked inside me when you *could*, meneur...) 

I — I haven't — 

(If I'd known you could do this, you would've heard me *screaming* for you, crying for you, *howling* for you —) 

*Reynard* — 

(And our brothers — they are the same. They *are*.) 

Treville pants — 

*Needs* — 

Fucking — *needs* — 

(Yes. You know that now. You know that and — and you will be our Fearless one. You will not let us howl alone in the dark.) 

I — 

(You won't let *Jason* howl alone in the dark, either.) 

Jason *grunts* — 

Treville *pants* more — Reynard?

"You have shared and shed blood. You have shared and shed tears — this I could see in all the *manipulation*. Even as Jason was *seducing* you, he was *giving* you himself. He was *offering* himself. 

"The way you do. 

"The way you always *have*, mon cher. You are honest *men* together, and that is... that is something which will strengthen *our* brotherhood. The *rest* of our brotherhood." 

Treville — groans. "Reynard..." 

Reynard smiles at him, warm and *proud* — and then he closes more of the distance between him and Jason, cups the man's face — 

And *jerks*. 

"What — what — what is this —" 

"I apologize. My touch can be... strange, *without* blood being shared." 

"I feel — hot and wrong and —" 

"Please, you must not be uncomfortable —" And Jason tries to back away — 

Reynard growls, steps back, slashes his *arm* open — and offers it to Jason, just like that. 

Jason blinks — "Reynard... if you do this — wait, no," he says, and casts a preservation spell so that Reynard's blood won't flow — 

"If you do this, brother, you'll be *kin* to Jason —" 

"He is *your* brother, and so he *must* be my brother," Reynard says, and never looks *away* from Jason. 

Jason's expression *quirks* — 

He seems to *think* for a moment — 

"I... are you a religious man?" 

Reynard snorts. "I would spit, but meneur's chambermaids are very sweet, very good girls who do not deserve this." 

"Very well. I will simply say that I'm possessed by a demon, I sometimes spit *literal* hellfire, the shadows surrounding me are living and belong to another creature entirely, and that those things are not the *whole* of what make me an occasionally terrifying person." 

"Oui, oui, carry on." 

Jason *stares* — but only for a moment before he *drinks* from Reynard, savouring and slow — 

"Ah — *ah* — oh, meneur, you were not so sensuous when you drank from my wounds!" 

"I thought you were *dying*." 

"And — and you were trying to be *subtle*, oui?" 

"Yes —"

"Do not *do* this thing! Suck me *dry*!" 

Treville *growls*, shift boiling under his skin — 

"Oh — *fuck* —" 

And Treville can feel Jason accessing his own power — 

Perhaps lengthening his *tongue* — 

"*Merde* — oui — *do* it —" 

And then Jason pulls back, licking the wound *closed* — 

"Non — oh —" 

Reynard slumps a little — 

And Jason grips him, deliberately touching the skin of his forearm and the side of his throat. "Better?" 

Reynard pants — 

Moans — 

And laughs, wild and thrilled and — aroused. "Frère..." And he licks his lips and grins, cupping Jason's face and kissing his cheeks — and his lips. "There. *Now* we are properly acquainted." 

Jason... looks a bit stunned. 

Which is fair. He's now been exposed to Reynard for well over fifteen minutes. 

Reynard steps back — 

And Jason catches him by the hand, twining their fingers together. 

"Jason...?" 

"I find that I need you to know, Reynard, that I take brotherhood as a sacrament. Perhaps one of the only *true* sacraments in all the spheres. I... will be at your side, when you call." 

Reynard parts his lips — 

Flushes —

And growls. "This is well, Jason. I will be ready for you." 

"Armed and armoured?" 

Reynard growls like a bite at the air — "Cocked and *loaded*, non?" 

"*Really*." 

Reynard *laughs*. "I am drunk on this! Notre meneur — he has never *once* let me see him make love with a *man*." 

Treville *blinks* — 

Thinks about it — 

"Not — but... never?" 

"Only *boys*, cher. Smooth-cheeked and soft-mouthed and — well. Where is *your* beard, Jason, mm?" 

"I never felt moved to take up the fashion," Jason says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall, next to the window. "When my baby-smooth cheeks are too conspicuous, I glamour a beard onto my face, but it never feels quite right." 

Reynard raises an eyebrow and strokes his own neat beard and moustache. "And yet you enjoy the hair of other men...?" 

"Very *much* so. My first *true* lover — Ser Darwyn — had a wonderful beard, blond and thick with curls... I miss it daily, sometimes." 

Treville grins. "You're going to love Kitos." 

Jason laughs low. "Yes, I saw him in your mind, amant. I can't help wondering if the man is *truly* *my* size once you remove all the hair..." 

Reynard prowls around Jason — 

Sizes Jason *up* — 

"You *are* quite *compact* for a grown man..." 

Jason *coughs* — 

"You realize they call *me* *Basset*, right?" 

"Basset — you're bigger than *I* am!" 

Reynard gestures a tiny package in the air. "Notre meneur, he is our *petit* chien," he says, and grins obnoxiously. 

"I'll have you know, *infant*," Jason says — 

Reynard snickers — 

"— that when *I* was your age, I was one of the largest, most imposing men *around*." 

Treville blinks — and considers. 

Reynard stares with his *mouth* open for a few moments — "I — how old *are* you, frère?" 

Jason snorts. "Six hundred and something or other. I've long since lost *exact* count —" 

Reynard's jaw drops again — 

Treville walks over and closes it for him. "See, not just a man, but an *older* man."

Reynard blinks — and splutters. "*Meneur* —" 

Treville grins. "Did you think — don't tell me you thought I didn't *like* men?" 

"I... I knew you wanted *Laurent* — we all knew —" 

"*Yes*." 

"But..." 

'But *what*?" 

Reynard sighs — and smiles ruefully. "I thought, perhaps... 'this thing with Laurent, we tease notre meneur about wanting his cock, but surely it is more romantic than sexual. Always he goes with pretty *boys*.'" And Reynard shrugs. 

"I tried to seduce *you*. *And* Kitos. I — what were you —" 

"We were drunk — we are *always* drunk, but —" 

"But you thought — was it because I only tried *once* with you?" 

"And only once with *Kitos*. He *told* me. You had only just woken up, you were hungover — probably *still* drunk —" 

"I meant it, I wanted — he was holding me in his arms, in his *lap*, and I could feel his huge *cock*, and I wanted —" Treville growls. "This is *why* he only gets to hold me when I'm too drunk to stop him, you know." 

"Because — you're afraid of what you'll do? What you'll say?" 

"Exactly. And if I'm positively *paralytic*... it doesn't make a difference." 

Reynard smiles with rueful pain. "You... say nothing. Your control is... perfect." 

Treville swallows. He's never wanted to apologize for that before. 

He's — 

Jason clears his throat, lightly. 

Both Treville and Reynard turn to look at him. 

"One thing. One thing only," Jason says, and raises one long finger. "While our brothers sometimes need our strength, and our power, and, yes, our *absolute* control... I have found, time and time again, that our brothers — our *lovers* — need our *weaknesses* even more than that. Or, perhaps, our 'weaknesses'. They — we — need to know that we are needed. We need to know that we are desired. We need to know that you will reach for *us* when times are difficult — or when they are simply lonely. We need to know that we are yearned for, and ached for, and loved." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Treville shivers. "I — I bloody can't function without — I need you both. I need *all* my brothers. *Please*," he says, and looks back and forth between them. 

"This is so hard to *believe* of you, meneur —" 

"I'll *show* you. I'll show you *exactly* how much I need you until you're bloody *limping*." 

Reynard grunts, eyes wide — and then wild again. "I was hollow until you and Kitos *filled* me. I was a weapon with no *master* until you started *wielding* me." 

Treville *growls* — 

"And *you*, Jason — you will make us, teach us, guide us — touch us." 

Jason *sighs* a growl. "As much as I am *allowed* —" 

"*No*. You *will* not think that we will keep you... keep you like a *tool*, only to be *used* when *required*," Reynard says. "You are our *brother* now. You have *made* yourself that, and you have given — so much," he says, and strokes Jason's chest through his glamour. 

Is Jason letting him feel — 

"Nnh — for a moment I forgot that these were not true clothes! Your body is so *hard*." 

"I —" 

"I am used to *meneur* being the only *hard* witch. But you... you wield weapons, too?" 

"Whenever possible — magic can grow weak. It's important to have —" 

"*Multiple* options with which to do *harm*, *oui*," Reynard says, nodding and smiling — and continuing to stroke. 

"I... Reynard." 

"Mm?"

And Jason's hands are around Reynard's wrists, just like that. So strong, so — 

Treville *knows* how strong — 

Reynard gasps — and blushes. 

"I want to take everything you're offering right now, Reynard. I want to take it and *coerce* you into offering even more." 

Reynard blushes *harder* — 

"I want to spend *hours* making love to you with your brother — with *all* of your brothers, at once." 

Reynard starts to shake his head — and stops himself — 

And hides himself behind *weak* walls. 

They can all see that *he's* not truly ready, that he *is* drunk on all of this, wild as ever, in need of touch and in need of everything which will make Jason *sure* of all of this. 

As sure as he hasn't been. 

Jason squeezes Reynard's wrists — 

Reynard moans *softly* — 

"Do you trust in me, Reynard? In my *need* for you?" 

"I..." (Let me touch your *cock*.) 

And Jason's eyes flare red and hot and *wild* as he presses Reynard's hands to his chest again — 

Drags them down and down and — 

Reynard groans — 

Flushes so *deeply* — 

And Jason drops his glamour for long enough for Treville to see Reynard *working* Jason's cock with awkward need, awkward force, awkward *pleasure* that gets more and more deft —

Jason closes his eyes — 

Hisses between his *teeth* — 

"I've never —" Reynard groans — "I've *never* —" 

And Jason *opens* his eyes again. "Then. I think you should be saving this for your meneur." 

Reynard makes a *wounded* sound — 

His hands *spasm* — 

Treville *grips* himself — 

He doesn't know if he wishes he'd put on clothes or *not* — 

And then Reynard laughs *madly* and steps *back* from Jason, sucking his own fingers and licking his palms — "You do *not*, meneur." 

"Reynard —" 

"You do — you must —" Reynard growls and looks back and forth between him and Jason. "Will you watch, frère? Will you watch ma vie have me?" 

"I won't be able to look away. I won't — not for a moment," Jason says, and laughs. "Though I was planning on *spying* magically rather than *staying*." 

"Please. Please *stay*." 

"I —" Jason laughs breathlessly. "Amant — I. Do *you* want —" 

Treville *looks* at Jason. "Have you *seen* the size of my knot lately?" 

Jason growls, low and vicious and — 

"Oh — it is so *dark*!" 

"That happens when Jason growls sometimes," Treville says, and pulls Reynard *in* — 

"*Yes* —" 

"I won't say it's *nothing* to be concerned about," he says, and starts stripping Reynard — 

"Please — *please* —" 

"But it's certainly not one of the *terrible* things —" 

"At least not often," Jason says, and drags a chair to the foot of Treville's bed. 

"At least not often," Treville says, shoving Reynard's tunic off and tossing it aside — 

Reynard *yanks* off his shirt — 

"Get rid of that hair-tie —" 

"So it *was* his hair that pulled you to him, at first —" 

"I'm a simple man, with simple needs, and one day I'm going to wrap your hair around my cock and toss myself off," Treville says, and drops to get rid of Reynard's boots and socks. 

Reynard laughs breathlessly — "I will do it for you —" 

"Yes, you *will*. You've been teasing me with that hair for bloody *years* —" 

Reynard laughs harder — 

Steps out of his boots and socks for Treville — 

"Shall I drag it slowly all over your body? Mm? Shall I make you *ache*?" 

"Only if you want me to fuck you so hard you can't train for a *week*."

Reynard *staggers* — 

Treville *pauses* — and looks up with one eyebrow raised. "Yes? No?" 

"Meneur, please don't say things like that while my cock is still *gaoled*!" 

Treville snarls and darts in, *biting* Reynard's crotch through his trousers — 

Reynard bucks and *grunts* — 

*Grips* at Treville's head to hold him there — 

"Yes — *yes* — oh — fuck — you will touch me and touch me and — you will leave *bruises* all over me!" 

Treville pulls back and *opens* those trousers, those breeches — "Mark you. Claim you." He yanks the trousers and breeches *down* — 

"*Please* —" 

"You want to be — you *are* mine —" 

"You have *teased* me!" And Reynard is giving him a *wounded* look. 

Treville pants — 

Growls — 

"No longer," he says, standing and gripping Reynard by the hips, nuzzling him, sniffing him, sniffing his desire — 

*Tasting* Jason's mark on him, Jason's *power* — had he given Reynard anything else? Any little extra vitality? 

He'll need it tonight... 

Treville buries his face behind Reynard's ear and snuffles and licks and *bites* — 

"*Meneur* — " 

Do you like that. 

"Please —" 

Answer. 

"I love it, I love it, please suck —" 

Treville does just that, and walks them to the bed — 

Holds them at the side — 

Sucks *harder* for a moment — 

Reynard *groans* — 

And then Treville steps back and shoves Reynard on. 

Reynard gasps a laugh and scoots on all the way, spreading his legs and beckoning, offering, *teasing* — 

Even though his heart is pounding. He — 

"Do not *listen* to my *fear*, meneur —" 

"I *have* to —" 

"You *don't*. You will *not*," Reynard says. "I will *allow* Jason to be *reasonable* with me — he does not *know* me. *You* do." And he spreads his legs wider, lifts his *bollocks*, shows off his *hole*. 

Treville *snarls* — 

"Do you see? I *stretch* myself at night, meneur —" 

"Don't —" 

"I shove my fingers deep and dream of your fat *knot*." 

And there's a moment when Treville is thinking of — nothing. Nothing, at all. 

There's a moment when there isn't even *colour* in his mind. No sound, no — 

No — taste — 

And then there's musk, and heat, and salt, and hunger, his *hunger*, and Reynard's *yells* — 

And Treville realizes that he'd lost *time* somewhere between standing next to the bed and starting to eat Reynard's *arse* — 

(These things happen, amant. Perfectly understandable.) 

There's a laugh as mad as one of Reynard's in his mind for that, but Reynard himself is just — 

Groaning. 

Shouting — 

Yelling *more* when Treville lets *enough* of the shift take him that his tongue goes *deep* — 

"Dieu! Mon Dieu! Fuck, meneur, fuck me, fuck me *fuck* —" 

And Treville has Reynard spread for him, has his thighs shoved *wide* — 

(He's beautiful, amant... but have you thought about clawing him?) 

I... 

(Giving him something to *feel* tomorrow...) 

Treville *growls* into Reynard's arse, his musky, clenching — 

So muscular — 

Wet with his *spit* — 

Treville growls *harder* and *rakes* his human claws down Reynard's inner thighs — 

Reynard arches and *screams*, clenches tight, so — 

Treville *forces* his tongue in, *in*, curls it and — 

And he wants more, he wants more, he wants — 

"Dieu, fuck, *meneur*, you must *take*! You must take what you want!" 

Treville pulls back and bites Reynard's thighs, his hips — 

Nips his bollocks — 

Reynard *sobs* — 

Is it too *much*, Treville asks — 

"Please don't stop!" 

He doesn't, he *won't*, he — 

He bites Reynard everywhere, *everywhere*, bites the sweat off his belly, licks his nipples and bites *them*, bites his Adam's apple and *growls* — 

Reynard keens and bucks and — 

No, he's not allowed to close his legs — 

"I'm sorry! I'm —" 

Shh... and Treville shoves his hand between, lifts his bollocks out of the way again and *presses* on that flexing hole with two dry fingers — 

Reynard gasps — 

And Treville goes back to biting him. His cheeks, his ears — 

His lips — 

His shoulders and jaw — 

He bites the join of his throat and shoulder hard, deep — 

He suckles there, marks, *marks* — 

(Will you mark me that way, amant...?) 

Whenever *possible*. 

Jason laughs low and filthy. (I can keep a scar just as long as I wish...) 

Good to know, Treville says, but really, that was the verbal equivalent of a purr. 

(It truly was. I...) 

Yes? And Treville shoves his tongue at Reynard's throat-notch *while* rubbing at that hole with his fingers — 

Rubbing *hard* — 

Reynard is tossing his head and *sobbing* — 

(Will you let *me* mark him...?) 

Treville *growls*, low and hungry and — he can admit this — possessive. 

(I'll take that as —) 

You have to let me be there. 

(Amant?) 

You have to let me see it, and touch it, and *taste* it, Treville says, turning his head and shifting enough to take *most* of Reynard's throat in his *jaws* — 

Reynard stiffens — 

Treville pauses — 

"Non! No, don't! Please don't stop! Please, I will be *good* for you, meneur, please, *please* —" 

And Treville's belly *drops* as he bites down — 

As he *holds* Reynard and cuts off his air and *shakes* him, just a little — 

Just enough to let him know — 

(He's yours...) 

That's *right*, Treville says, biting *harder* — 

Breaking the *skin* — 

Reynard *jerks* in his grip — 

His helpless cry is *whistled* everywhere but the shout in their minds — 

And, abruptly, there's something slick and warm — but not too warm — nudging at the fingers he has pressed to Reynard's hole. It — 

(I just thought you might appreciate.... well.) 

Treville growls *hard*, slicking his hand and *pushing* in with two fingers, slow and steady and hard, *hard* — 

Reynard arches and writhes and tenses — 

*Clutches* at him — 

*Screams* in their minds — 

Tries and fails to *gasp* — 

(S'il te plait s'il — fuck — *fuck* — sil te — PLEASE!) 

Take it, brother — 

(Nah — *AHN* —) 

Take everything I *give* you, Treville says, giving Reynard another *shake* in his jaws and crooking *up* with his fingers — 

(MENEUR! — I — ) And the rest of that is one broken scream after another; one harsh, breathless *whistle* after another, as Reynard *claws* at Treville and bucks and spurts and *spurts*. 

Oh... *Reynard*. And Treville *fucks* him with his slick fingers, holds him in his jaws and fucks him hard, fucks him *through* it — 

Reynard *wails* in their minds — 

There's a flash — Reynard is thinking of being bent over by Treville in a *tavern* — 

Treville grunts and thrusts harder — 

Reynard arches and bucks and clenches and *writhes* — 

*Spurts* — 

And he's thinking of the whole regiment — and Jason — *watching* Treville bend him over — 

Treville *works* him, *works* him and tries *not* to think about how to make that fantasy a reality — 

Reynard is thinking of Jason spending in his *hair* — 

He's groaning in his chest and — 

(Don't make your ringleader jealous now, brother...) 

And the desperate sounds fall to breathless laughter, needy laughter, wheezed aloud and perfect inside — 

Treville doesn't want to let him *go* — 

(I am yours, meneur, *yours* —) 

Treville growls around Reynard's throat — 

Forces himself to slow his thrusts — 

Forces himself to ease his *grip* — 

He doesn't want to let *go* — 

(Meneur? Are you — please do not let me go if you don't *want* to!) 

Treville *pants* against Reynard's hot, damp skin — 

Licks and licks and — 

(Amant... he will not leave you now.) 

Treville grunts. 

(He will not... disappear, should you release him for the moments it will take to firm your grip in other ways —) 

(Oh — *merde* — meneur, I am *yours*! I will *never* leave your side *again*!) 

Treville's cock *flexes* — 

(Yes, mine has been rather active over here, as well...) 

Treville coughs a laugh — 

And. He can breathe. 

And think. 

And pull *back* — for long enough that he can *pin* Reynard, shove him down by the shoulders, spread his legs with his own, hold him *down* and stare at that perfect hair spread out in a corona on *his* bed — 

After so *long* — 

And... 

Reynard is looking up at him with his broad lips parted, with his eyes wide and bright — the olive almost *lost* to black. 

Reynard is *covered* with *his* marks — 

His throat is *bleeding* — 

And he looks... so happy. 

Treville tightens his grip helplessly — and Reynard's eyes widen even more.

And darken even more. "Please, meneur. Please *have* me." 

"Tell me. Tell me why Kitos wasn't with you." 

Reynard grins with a *loose* sort of wildness. "Our Laurent, he was *strategizing*. He felt that if he sent both of us, you would feel he was *nannying* you too much and *rebel* against his orders to stay away from anything that smacked of active duty." And Reynard flexes beneath him. "Does ma vie miss notre verrat terribly in this moment? Do you wish to share me with him? Will you both use me very hard?" 

And there's... another moment... 

It's blank — 

It's *blank* — 

(I've put more slick on your fingers, amant.) 

Thank you, Treville says, or maybe barks. It's hard to tell, at this point, because Reynard is laughing, and Treville is *drunk*, and his fingers are *right* back in Reynard's arse — 

And they're going to stay there for a while. 

(You don't feel it would be more productive to... periodically... remove them? Or nearly remove them?) And Jason is *absolutely* strangling his cock over there, but — 

You have the best ideas, Jason, Treville says, and *twists* his fingers — 

Reynard *howls* — 

(I would like to explore Reynard's desires for public and... ah... *populous* sex, shall we say.) 

I would like to... to... 

(Fuck him blind and mindless?) 

Repeatedly, if at all possible — 

And Reynard pulls his legs up — 

Plants his feet — 

Fucks *himself* on Treville's two fingers, and that — 

"Is this what you *like*, brother." 

"Yes — oh, *yes* —" 

"Not harder? Faster?" 

"More! S'il te plait, give me — *please*, more!" And Reynard sits up on his elbows and *stares* — 

Blinks — 

Focuses — but only briefly before he's biting his lip and *shoving* himself down onto Treville's fingers, clenching — 

Treville growls and *twists* — 

Reynard *yells* — 

Squeezes his eyes shut — 

Claws at the sheets —

He's hot inside, sleek, smooth — that won't last — 

(Really...) 

Really. And Treville pulls out and comes back with three, comes — 

"Don't make me wait for you to flex open, brother. Don't make me wait for you, at all —" 

Reynard sobs and opens for him, opens and moans and tosses his *head* — "Please! Please, you must, you must —" 

"Should I let you make demands...?" 

Reynard's jaw drops — 

He stares wide-eyed and young and sweet and — 

Treville growls and *pushes* — 

Pushes *deep* — 

Reynard yowls like a *cat*, tossing his head again — 

There's a lock of hair in his *mouth* — 

He's panting and clenching and *moaning* — 

"Answer my question." 

"Ne sais pas, ne sais —" 

"Answer me anyway." 

"Do everything to me!" 

"Hurt you?" 

"*Love* me! Love me *hard*!" 

Treville snarls and crooks his fingers — 

Reynard *screams* — 

Treville *drags* his fingers back out, slow and hard and still *crooked* — 

Reynard almost *barks* out several *short* screams — 

"Oh, Reynard... I'm going to fuck you so *hard*..." 

Reynard throws his head back and *sobs*, tries to *create* a rhythm of thrusts, tries — 

But Treville can give him one, can — 

It's the least he can *do*, one thrust after another, one *shove*, hard and hard and *harder* — 

"Mon frère, oh, mon frère —" 

"Do you like it?" 

"I love it!" 

"Are you sorry you didn't beg me for it every *night*?" 

Reynard's cock *jerks*, spattering them *both* — 

"*Are* you?" 

Reynard pants — "I'm sorry — you did not *take* it from me every night!" 

Treville snarls —

"I'm sorry you didn't slam me against the wall when I *teased* you —" 

"Yes —" 

"I'm sorry you didn't force your doggy tongue down my *throat* —" 

"Choke you with it?" 

"I — I am *yours*, meneur!" And Reynard is shouting it, begging it, *urging* it — 

"Mine —" 

"*Yours*!" 

Reynard is trying to make him *understand* — 

And that means Treville isn't making *himself* understood. He *grips* Reynard's hip with his other hand, squeezes hard — 

Reynard grunts — 

"More bruises for you to touch. For you to feel. For you to *show* the *regiment* when you're *bathing* tomorrow —" 

"*Merde* —" 

"But you won't show them anything else," Treville says, and slows his thrusts down, just a little. Just enough that he's not being *brutal*. 

Reynard whimpers — "Please —" 

"You won't —" Treville growls, making sure it comes out just as flat and animal as it should. 

Reynard *stiffens* — 

"*Relax*." 

Reynard *gasps* and flexes open — 

"Good boy," Treville says, twisting again and pushing deep, *deep* — 

"Ohn — meneur — I want your *cock*!" 

"You'll have it. But you have to learn." 

"To... learn?" 

Treville growls again and nuzzles in — 

Sniffs and noses at Reynard's stretched hole — 

"Ahn —" 

"You have to learn what it *means* to be mine." 

"*Merde* — *teach* me!" 

Treville licks out soft — 

Soft, soft — 

Reynard shudders and *quakes* — "S'il te — *meneur* —" 

Treville shoves *in* with his tongue, right next to his fingers — 

Reynard *screams* — 

I'm going to taste you every chance I get... 

Reynard spreads his long, perfect legs — 

Moans and arches — 

Offers himself *up* — 

Is that so, Reynard? You won't fight? 

"I — I — I will not!" 

You'll give me your arse whenever I want it? 

"YOURS —" 

What if I want you when you want a woman...? And Treville *wriggles* his tongue *deep* — 

Reynard makes a *strangled* noise — 

Laughs, breathless and high as a *boy* — 

"Perhaps — perhaps notre meneur will fuck me *into* her...? Non...?" 

Treville growls a laugh into Reynard's arse — 

"Take me away from her, order me away, crook your little — little *finger* —" 

And that's all it would take? 

"Meneur, you don't know how many times I've — I've dreamed. Of the *dog* calling me to *heel*." 

Treville growls and *fucks* Reynard with tongue and fingers, fucks him and tastes him and — 

He needs Reynard to lose *control* — 

He needs Reynard to be just as wild — 

"Meneur — should I — should I *spend*?" 

Treville *growls* more and pulls back, pulls out — 

Reynard *whines* — 

Treville flips Reynard *over*, bites his back, his shoulders, his *neck* — and he goes loose. 

He goes — 

Trembling and *loose* — 

(It's so difficult for you to believe that he belongs to you,) Jason says, and he's stroking himself with slow, ruthless, *hungry* control. 

It's been so *long*, Treville says, and bites harder — 

Reynard sobs and *takes* it — 

Treville pushes his fingers back — 

No, he tests, he *tests* — and, yes, Reynard's ready for more, ready... 

(Think about him stretching himself for you, amant...) 

I — I can't do that... 

(Can't you?) 

I have to keep control — 

(I honestly don't think that's *much* of a concern at *this* point...) 

And Reynard is whimpering softly and moaning *loudly*, struggling to push up onto his knees — 

Struggling to make it easier for Treville to *ream* him, and — 

And. 

Jason has a point. 

It's the easiest thing in the world to wrap his free arm around Reynard's chest and hold him *up* while pushing and pushing and *pushing* in with three fingers — 

Reynard whimpers and *shakes* — 

"Have you taken this much before, brother?" 

"Oui — I — *sometimes*!" 

"Not often?" And Treville starts to work his fingers back and forth — 

Reynard shudders — 

*Sobs* — 

"It — too much — please don't stop!" 

And Treville is sweating, slick with it, *tense* —

"*Please*! It — it — I would *spend* thinking of — of — you stretching me this far!" 

Treville growls and bites again, again — 

Bites his shoulder and breaks the *skin* — 

Reynard clenches and *howls* — and keeps doing just that while Treville slurps and laps up the blood. 

He shudders and *groans* — 

He shudders and *slumps*, flexing open — 

And Treville pulls back, licking the wound closed. "Good boy. Who else stretches you like that?" 

"No — no — sometimes you show Kitos *how*." 

Treville grunts. "He knows —" 

"He knows — how to gently open a pretty *boy*. You teach him. You teach him how to open *me*." 

Treville growls — 

"Unless you do not *wish* to, unless — I will not —-" 

Treville grips Reynard *tighter* — "You'll do everything I *tell* you to —" 

"Ah, Dieu, *yes*!" 

"You'll do everything — *how* do I teach Kitos to touch you? How do I make him *work* you?" 

"You tell him — you tell him not to be so gentle!" 

Treville *shoves* in with his three fingers — 

Reynard *screams* — 

"What *else*." 

"You tell him to hurt me, to *hurt* — to make me — to punish —" 

Treville snarls — 

(My, my...) 

Treville fucks Reynard hard, *hard* — 

Reynard tosses his head and *groans* — 

Spreads his legs — 

Flexes *open* — "You *like* that, you —" 

"What is he *punishing* you — *tell* me!" 

"My *lies*. My — please, *please*!" 

And for a moment Treville is confused — and then he realizes that he'd spread his fingers *inside* Reynard — 

That he's fucking Reynard *that* way — 

That he's *having* him — 

Oh, Reynard... 

(He's taking it very well, amant...) 

My... my *force*... 

(Look how he's struggling to spread himself even wider...) 

Treville *barks*, licks at Reynard, licks and licks and — 

"Non — non —" 

"What is it, Reynard? What do you need?" 

"Your — please do not be *soft* with me! Not yet!" 

Treville stiffens and *fights* back the shift — 

"Oh — I *feel* — ma vie, so *strong*, let me be strong for you!" 

"You won't have a choice to be anything *less*," Treville growls, and crooks his fingers — 

Reynard *chokes* on a yell — 

Treville drags his fingers — 

Reynard shudders and jerks and — starts to ride him again, starts — 

He's crying out on every *thrust* — 

He's so loud and wild and *shameless* — 

He's — 

(Perfect. Just like you.) 

No — 

(Trust me.) 

And Jason's wink is *tangible*, even with Treville's gaze *fixed* on Reynard, on the way he's moving his body for him, rolling and *twisting* his body for him, on the way he's taking this — 

Taking every — 

Treville *growls* — 

Growls *more* — 

"Will — will ma vie *bite* again?" 

"Not *yet*." 

"S'il te —" 

"Shh." 

Reynard *sobs* — 

"Do I always let other people punish you in your fantasies?" 

Reynard *groans* — 

Hangs his *head* — 

*Coughs* out *more* groans — Treville is fucking him faster — 

Taking him — 

Fuck, he can't stop, he can't — 

He's sweating and slick and *aching*, and he can't — 

"*Tell* me!" 

"You punish me — with your *cock*!" 

(Well, then.) 

"Reynard..." 

"I feel — you want to stretch me *more* —" 

"My knot is *big*, Reynard —" 

"*Hurt* me with it! Let me feel you! Let me feel you for *days*!" 

Treville barks and croons and licks and licks and — 

"Non, non —" 

— and pulls *out*, much too bloody *fast* — 

"Ohn — *fuck* — " 

Wipes his hand on the sheets and — "Hands and *knees*." 

"*Oui*, meneur," Reynard says, laughing and — 

His scents are so wild, so happy, so bright and perfect and — 

And Treville can't *stop* himself from licking a *hot* path all the way up his spine — 

Making him wriggle and *writhe* *impatiently* — 

"Please — s'il te plait, plus vite, I've waited so long, I need it, I need to feel *all* of you —" 

And Treville is on him, over him, *covering* — 

"*Yes* —" 

"Head *down*." 

Reynard *drops*, just like that — 

And — and — 

This isn't going to *work* — 

Treville *needs* his hands on that bruised shoulder, that ravaged neck — 

It's the only thing keeping the dog in him from *leaping* out and demanding his *due* — 

Reynard *shivers* and lifts his *arse* — 

Treville *growls* — 

*Needs* — 

(This is, perhaps, what brothers are for, amant...) 

What — 

And Jason is still in the chair, still *strangling* that cock of his, but his shadows are — right there. *Between* Treville and Reynard. 

Cupping Treville's hungry cock and — 

And oh, fuck, *spreading* Reynard — 

Opening him right up — 

Helping to *guide* — 

(And I will happily open your Reynard with my shadows for your knot... if that is what's desired.) 

And Reynard is whining — 

Heart pounding and racing at once —

He's had magic worked on him so *rarely* — and Treville can soothe, can have *enough* control to *grip* the back of that long, strong neck — 

Reynard *shudders* — 

"Be still," Treville says, and rumbles low and steady. 

Reynard *gasps* — 

Treville keeps rumbling — 

And Reynard stills for him just like that. 

"My perfect brother —" 

"Don't — don't be *reasonable*! S'il te plait, run me *over*." 

Treville *pants* —

Feels Jason's silent *question* — 

And Treville says yes again, growls yes, throws yes into the teeth of everything and — 

And Jason slicks him hot, sleek, perfect — 

(*Mine*, amant...) 

Jason guides him until the tip of his cock is *just* brushing Reynard's swollen rim — 

Treville wants to *tease* — 

But that's not the kind of punishment his Reynard needs right now. 

That's not — he rams *in*, all the way, fuck, all the *way* — 

"Nngh —" 

He lets Reynard *feel* his Jason-slick and *throbbing* knot — 

Reynard gasps and clenches — 

Cries out and clenches *harder* — 

*Yells* — 

Treville *squeezes* his neck — and before he can say a word, Reynard flexes right open, right — 

Fuck — 

Fuck, and Treville's body is working without him, he's pulling out, shoving — 

In — 

"*Dieu* — so *hot* —" 

Pulling out and shoving *in* — 

"Dieu, ah, Dieu — fuck — *fuck* me!" 

And that's — 

That's exactly what he's doing, what he's *giving*, long strokes of his needy cock, his already-spasming cock — 

(Impressive that you're not already giving him your knot...) 

Don't — 

And Jason laughs, low and hungry and — (I want to *see*, amant. I want to see the animal in you. And, I think, so does your Reynard...) 

"*Oui*! S'il — s'il te —" And the rest of that is another wildcat's cry, loud and *harsh* as Treville *drags* his cock over Reynard's pleasure-button — 

That — 

Treville shudders and *grips* Reynard's hips — 

Pulls them — 

Pulls them further *up* — 

"Nuh — *merde* — *fuck* — oui, meneur, oui, do it, *have* me!" And Reynard is gripping at the sheets — 

Biting at them and *sobbing* — 

Treville can't stop — 

He's fucking Reynard so hard, so fast, so — 

His thrusts are getting shorter and *faster* — 

(The rut is taking you, perhaps...?) 

I — I don't like — 

(Thinking of it that way? It *may* be a good idea to surrender that battle with honour, amant...) 

Treville coughs a laugh and forces himself to grind in, show a little finesse, a little — 

A little *sign* that he's been fucking for most of the past fifteen years — 

Some sign that he can be *competent* — 

Work his Reynard — 

Right — 

And oh, he's so beautiful as he drools on the sheets — 

As he claws at the sheets and tries — 

Oh — to fuck his own *mouth*, but — 

"Keep — keep those fingers *out* of there," Treville snarls — 

Reynard *sobs* and *yanks* his hand away from his mouth — "I'm sorry! I'm — " 

"You — you don't get to put anything *in* there unless I *tell* you —" 

"Ah, *fuck* — meneur — *meneur*, I will *spend* —" 

Treville snarls again as his cock *jerks* — "Not yet. Not — " Treville *shakes* himself and fucks Reynard harder, *harder* — 

He whines — "I — I will hold on!" 

"You'll hold on — for *me*!"

"For you, oui, oui, always for you —" 

"You're *mine* —" 

Reynard cries out — "Meneur, please don't make it — make it *harder* not to *spend* —" 

Treville groans and — "Jason — *Jason*." 

"I'm... right here, amant —" 

"*Help* me."

"With *great* pleasure," Jason says, and the shadow that caresses Treville's knot is no rougher than Jason's calluses — 

Almost as hot as his hand — 

And there are more, silkier shadows slipping *in* next to his cock — 

*Stretching* Reynard — 

"What — *what* — ohn — oh, fuck, fuck — meneur! Jason! S'il te plait —" 

"Shh," Treville says, and squeezes Reynard's hips tight, *tight* — 

"Meneur —" 

"Shh. This is going to help. Help you take it *faster*." 

Reynard sobs again — 

*Again* — 

"I am so hot, so hungry — so wide *open* for you, meneur —" 

Treville *grunts* — "Reynard —" 

"Please, please do not leave me like —" 

In — 

In, then, and the shadows *writhe* against his knot — 

Press and caress and kiss and *promise* — but Reynard is screaming — 

Reynard is — 

Is — 

(Here, amant, look at his face...) 

And Jason shows him Reynard's wide, staring eyes — 

His open mouth — 

His flushed, sweating, *wondering* face as Treville pushes his knot in further and further and — 

Oh... 

Oh, Reynard — 

He's blinking rapidly, opening and closing his mouth, swallowing — 

His Adam's apple is bobbing like a boy's — 

He looks like he can't believe what's *happening*, and — 

And Treville is *struck* with a fantasy of having had Reynard when he was a boy, of somehow stealing him from his provincial family, of having him for his own — 

Or of being a little older — 

Making Reynard *his* boy — 

Giving his *boy* his knot — 

Reynard gasps and *shouts* — 

Clenches — 

Treville barks and shoves *deeper* — 

Reynard *screams* — 

The shadows give them even more slick, hot and fresh, musky, perfect — 

(You're welcome...) 

Treville growls and — 

And he's already *rutting*, already *rocking*, even though he's not all the way in, even though — 

He can't stop — 

"Don't — *don't* —" 

He *covers* Reynard again — 

(Oh, you beautiful *hound*...) 

He *bites*, taking that long, muscular neck in his jaws again, cupping and squeezing those broad shoulders — 

Holding — 

Holding *down* — 

And rutting — 

(Give yourself to it...) 

And *rutting* — 

(He's yours...) 

And — 

And the last of his knot pops *in* — 

Reynard screams so *harshly*, so — 

Treville's knot *flexes* — 

Flexes again when Reynard clenches over and over *helplessly* — 

So — 

Treville *growls*, making sure Reynard can feel it all through him, making — 

Fuck, but Reynard's his now, his and no one else's, grown and adult and strong, so strong and beautiful, his brother, his *brother*, frères *toujours* — 

He clenches *again* — 

Treville *bucks* — 

Reynard is *his*, and he can — 

Take — 

(*Yes*, amant —) 

He's so tight, so tight and hot and — 

And it's just like every boy he's knotted — finesse is neither possible nor *needed*. He's *going* to ram that pleasure-button every time — 

Every — 

Oh, but Reynard is *screaming* every time —

Almost *barking* out screams again — 

Almost — 

Treville has to bite him harder, has to growl again, let him know what he'll *get* — 

Reynard *clenches* again — 

Tight. 

Tight and so *fucking* hot, and there's nothing in Treville's mind but the sweet *grip* of Reynard's arse; his slick skin, sleekness interrupted with scars — memorized long ago; his desperate cries — 

Spiraling higher — 

High as a boy's — 

(I — I keep telling you that. He's *yours* —)

And Jason sounds just as hungry, just as close, just as — 

They're all so — 

The scents in the room are so high and *animal* — and even better when Treville pricks Reynard's flesh one more time — 

Takes his *blood* one more — 

No, he'll take it again — 

Again and again — 

He'll take it *every* time he *fucks* Reynard, shoves him down, puts him in his *place* —

"I — I'm *sorry*!" 

And that makes no *sense* for a moment — until Reynard screams again — 

Again — 

Clenches *around* Treville over and over and the scents of his spend rise and he's — 

Oh, he's spending for this, just this — 

Treville growls and forces himself to releases the bite so he won't bite *deeper* — but he has to turn his head, bite that shoulder — 

Make Reynard *howl* for him — 

Clench *harder* — 

*Work* Treville's knot and — 

Oh, he smells so good, tastes so perfect — 

Treville reaches — 

But there's a shadow at his lips *fragrant* with Reynard's spend — 

Treville *bites* it — 

*Jason* shouts — 

Grunts and works himself fast and hard — 

Treville can *hear* it — 

He can — 

Treville growls and bites the shadow *harder* — 

"*Amant* —" 

*Do* it! 

The shadows *whip* around them — 

Jason growls and the room gets darker and closer, hotter, *thicker*, somehow — 

There's too much *pressure* — 

Treville is snarling and snapping and gripping Reynard tight, fucking him *hard*, fucking him — 

He can't stop — 

(Would you like. To taste?) 

And he's barely thought the word 'yes' before it feels like Jason's *cock* is resting on his lip in the darkness — 

Before it feels like Jason's spurting and spurting and *filling* — 

Treville's rhythm *stutters* — 

Reynard *sobs* — 

Clenches *again* — 

And then he slumps and whimpers and Treville is sucking down Jason's spend and *pounding* Reynard, giving it to him, giving him everything even as the shadows peel away from them — 

Even as Jason's spend drips down his *chin* — 

Treville licks his own *face* and ruts *harder* — 

Reynard clutches at the bed — 

Jason slumps in his chair and sucks his *fingers* — 

And this — 

This is — 

(Here, amant...) And Jason shows Treville Reynard's face again, shows him his dazed eyes and slack mouth —  
'  
His flushed skin and bitten *lips* — 

His lank hair and sweet smile and — 

And — 

Treville *wraps* that hair around his fist, hauls Reynard up, and *has* him — 

"Oui! Ah, Dieu!" 

He's *hoarse* — 

He's — 

Panting and hoarse and — 

And Treville is growling constantly, losing himself — 

"To the rut, amant...?" And Jason is *laughing* at him — 

But he can take that, he can — 

He can take anything for this, for this sweet-slick-rough *slam* — 

Over and *over* — 

For Reynard's desperate, pleasured *laughter* — 

For Jason's eager *desire* — 

"Any time you *like*, amant..." 

Treville snaps and *grinds* in — 

*In* — 

Reynard *moans*, and the scents of his musk are rising again, the scents of his *sweat* are rising — 

His *pain* — 

"Unh — *ungh* —" 

"*Reynard* —" 

"Oui! Punish — punish me for *spending* too — too —" 

"Is this *punishment*?" 

And Reynard gasps laughter, breathless and sweet and so — "*Non* — ma vie, ma vie, fuck me all day and *night*!" 

And Treville snaps at the air again, growls — 

Groans when Reynard laughs and *clenches* more — 

Claws Reynard's slick flank, freckled and pink, so — 

He makes it pinker, claws him more, spanks his hip, grinds in and in and loses himself — 

Gives himself — 

But he can't — 

He can't give himself utterly — 

(Yes, you can.) 

What — what — 

(I'll hold you. It's safe,) Jason says, and the feel of him in Treville's mind is heavy, hard — 

Right and — and proper as a brother *should* be — 

And he's already taking his hand out of Reynard's hair — 

Already answering Reynard's questioning moan with with a nip to his throat — 

And letting — 

The dog — 

Out. 

"*Dieu*!"


	8. Some things are always special. Or possibly... special.

Well, it's a *good* thing, really, that Jason hadn't bothered to put clothes back on or, really, *move* — 

This is — 

Watching the dog who is and *isn't* Treville lock his forelegs around Reynard's chest — 

Watching Reynard blush and pant in *shock* — 

*Smelling* Reynard's shock as the body covering his changes, grows fur, changes in configuration and *strength* — 

Reynard is *wheezing* as the dog half-helplessly *crushes* his chest — 

Reynard is groaning and — 

Oh, clenching by the sloppy-wet sound of it. Clenching even as the dog *rides* him. 

The *dog's* cock and knot are *smaller*. 

Something to remember for all the many, many fantasies and dreams and fixations this day will give him. 

Jason grips his balls in one hand and works his cock in the other, works it and — 

Gives himself permission to *just* focus on the sounds for a moment, the slap and splash and *crash* of it — 

The wheezes and grunts and *yips* and *growls* of it — 

And — 

Oh, this is — 

Well, six hundred years tends to make a lot of things old *hat*, but not this. 

Not *this*. 

Not earth-mages who share with the likes of him. Not earth-mages who share their *loves* with him, and this moment — 

Reynard's wide, desperate, *stunned* eyes as the dog licks up into his hairline — 

As the dog snuffles and laps and *nibbles* him — and Reynard can't stop himself from reaching back to fist his own cock. 

Jason pants and moans for it, for the — 

For the beauty of *that* first, that knowledge that Reynard had never *truly* imagined *this* — 

For the fact that he's been allowed to share it. To — 

"It — it is *yours*, frère," Reynard pants, blushing and obviously trying hard to catch a breath, moaning and *squeezing* himself — 

The dog growls and *bites* him again — 

"*Fuck* — oh, fuck — I have — I have *hunted* with — I have *warred* —" 

"With — the dog?" 

"Oui! Oh, Jason, I will never be able to — I will always —" Reynard sobs and strokes himself fast, *fast* — 

But — "You'll never — you'll never be able to do what?" 

"Ne sais pas, I don't —" 

"What won't you do? What won't you do for your love? Your *life*." 

And Reynard blinks — 

Groans and — doesn't stiffen. He goes loose, all over — 

"Nothing — there is *nothing* —" 

Jason can *feel* Reynard opening all over with the shadows he has lingering near them — 

Jason *flexes* for it — 

For the dog's desperate *croon* as he fucks Reynard *harder* — 

Reynard *moans* — 

"Is he being very — very *brutal*," Jason says, and squeezes *himself* — 

Groans and arches — 

Squeezes his balls and *bucks* — 

Reynard sobs again — "He is fucking me like — *like* a dog — you can see! Ma vie, he is — so animal!" 

"I..." Jason groans and tosses himself off faster. "I frankly can't wait my *turn*." 

Reynard grunts — 

The dog *yips* — 

"Did you clench your sloppy arse again, Reynard? Did you —" 

But the dog is slamming in hard, *hard*, and Reynard is hanging his head — 

Squeezing himself and *drooling* again — 

Jason sends more shadows so that he can see more clearly — 

So that he can see the *throb* of the dog's pulsing knot — 

So that he can he see the mad light in the dog's glowing eyes — 

So that he can see Reynard's beautiful *extremis* as he wraps more shadows round Reynard's cock and *helps* to stroke and squeeze and — 

And Reynard *screams* — 

And the dog *slams* in once — 

Twice — 

Again — 

And Reynard *spatters* the bed with his spend — 

The dog's eyes *flare* — 

He glows all *over* as he ruts in hard, fast, *violently* — and *howls* as he fills Reynard's arse with spend. 

And just a little bit of Treville's — and Jason's shared — vitality. 

It's Jason's own fault for not being clear that he was doing that, himself. 

It's — 

It's a wall of hot, musky, deep, *dirty* scent — 

It's beautiful, and it's filthy, and Reynard is sobbing again, tossing his *head* — 

Wheezing more as the dog *clutches* with his forelegs — 

Please, Reynard... please share what you're feeling... 

Reynard *gasps*, ragged and tinged with shock — 

And they can *all* feel that pulsing knot in Reynard's sore, stretched, *swollen* arse — 

They can all feel the heat and slick *wetness* of Treville's wild and musky spend — 

The dog yips and *fucks* Reynard for that, even though his knot is swelling, even though he *must* need less *stimulation* — 

Jason can't keep himself from groaning for it, from stroking himself ruthlessly, from sliding down in the chair until his arse is *available* — 

Just in case —

And Reynard pants and *looks* at him just as the dog shudders and slumps. "I — I cannot *move* —" 

"Nor *should* you —" 

"But *you* should." 

"I think the dog would have something — something to say about that —"

"But ma vie would *not* — and didn't you say you would hold him? His... lead? Was that not what I heard?" 

Oh... fuck. For a moment, Jason can only wonder what he's gotten *into* with these brothers, these *Musketeers* — 

Reynard is smiling just as savagely as Treville had been *earlier* — 

The dog is eyeing him *suspiciously* — 

And. 

It only takes a little tug —- 

A little *reach* — Come back to us, mon amant... 

Treville shifts immediately — 

"*Ahn* — ah — oh, fuck, cher, oh, *fuck*, you are so big!" 

"You earned every *inch*," Treville says, and licks up into his hairline. 

"*Merde* —" 

Treville laughs. "Now what's this I hear about — well, look at that. Jason, get *up* here." 

Jason groans and stands, feeling cock-heavy and awkward and — 

Reynard licks his lips — 

Smiles *broadly* with his swollen mouth — 

And Jason *resists* the urge to warn the man away from what he wants, to urge the man — 

His brother. 

His *brother*. 

"That's *right*, lover," Treville says, and also beckons — 

"Oui, I know memory fades with advanced age, but —" And Reynard is laughing as Jason climbs on in front of him — 

Reynard is stroking Jason's cock, his hips, his balls — 

Stroking so *greedily* — 

"No *hesitating*, brother. Get that cock in your mouth," Treville says, and *bucks* — 

Reynard *shouts* — and lunges for it, taking half at once — 

And coughing — 

But not coughing Jason out. Not even *trying* to cough Jason out, even as he flushes dark. He — 

Jason and Treville pet him together, gentle him — 

(Non! Non, do *not*!) 

And Treville rumbles a laugh — "You heard him, Jason." 

"So I did," Jason says, burying a hand in Reynard's hair and *yanking* — 

Yanking him *back* — 

(Please, no!) 

And then *hauling* him on — 

(Fuck fuck yes — mmmm —) 

Reynard sucks *hard* — 

"You're going to take more, Reynard," Jason says. "You're going to take more, and more, until I'm fucking your tight, virginal throat. Aren't you." 

Reynard shudders and nods — (Please help me!) 

"Gladly," Treville says, gripping Reynard's wrists and pulling them behind his back, holding them there — "You can't move. You can't get free." 

"You're *bound*, Reynard. You're *trapped* between our cocks," Jason says. 

"You can't. Get. Free." 

"You're entirely ours like this." 

"You're *mine* — and I'm sharing my *property* with our other brother. And there's nothing you can do about it, brother." 

"You asked for precisely this," Jason says, and starts working Reynard's head on his needy, *jerking* cock — 

His — 

His *aching* cock — 

"You *asked* for it, and I firmly believe in treating my weapons *properly*," Treville says, and squeezes Reynard's wrists hard — 

"You *asked* for it... and we will never forget that you did," Jason says — 

And Reynard goes *loose*, muscles slack seemingly everywhere but his lovely *mouth* — 

And Jason is panting — 

Trying not to buck — 

Trying not to fuck — 

Not *yet* — 

"There will be no *reprieve*," Treville says — 

And Reynard's breath hitches once — 

He groans — 

He cuts himself *off* — 

And Jason realizes that he was trying to stay silent all along, that he was trying to hear them, to — 

"Oh. Oh, good *boy*," Jason says, and works him *faster* — 

"The absolute *best*," Treville growls, moving Reynard's wrists to one hand and starting to molest with the other — 

To stroke and pinch, to claw and *slap* — 

And Reynard's lashes only flutter —

His eyes roll up when Treville reaches around to play with Reynard's *cock* — 

Oh, yes — 

Oh — 

It's the easiest and most perfect thing to send his shadows to study Treville's rhythm — and take it for his own, working his cock deeper and deeper into Reynard's mouth with every pull — 

Every *careful* thrust — 

Every — 

Treville *growls* and *squeezes* — 

Reynard *shouts* — 

Jason *shoves* in — 

Oh — *in* — 

And everything stops for a moment as they all feel Reynard's heart pound, as they all feel him twisting on their cocks — 

Oh, yes — 

Oh, *yes* — "You — you heard your meneur, Reynard. This is *exactly* what you've earned." 

"And you'll take it *every* time I tell you to," Treville says — 

And Reynard slumps — 

Groans in his *chest* — 

Jason's cock *spasms* — 

Over and over — he won't last. He won't — 

"You *don't* have to," Treville says, and now his rhythm on Reynard's cock is — fast. Not too hard, but *fast* — 

Reynard is groaning and groaning and Jason fucks him just that way, just that — 

Fast and light, fast and sweet, fast and *deep* — 

Oh, yes, Reynard, gulp, gulp me in, gulp me deep, you precious little whore — 

And Reynard jerks — 

Treville yips and *bucks* — 

"Did he — did he *clench* for that —" 

"*Viciously*. Do you like it, brother? Do you like being our whore?" 

Reynard whimpers, whines, and it's all brutalized, made incoherent by Jason's rough thrusts, increasingly *harsh* thrusts — 

"*Answer*, brother. Answer — or I'll take your treat away." 

"Oh — Cerridwen's *cock* —" 

And Treville laughs *evilly* — 

Reynard is *working* himself between them, and — (I am a whore, I am — I am *your* whore, ma vie, I have always been, you must use me, share me, *train* me —) 

Treville's laugh turns into a *roar* — 

Jason is growling, too — 

Every shadow in the room is *reaching* for his brothers, his beautiful *brothers* — 

And he's *reaming* Reynard's pretty mouth, swollen mouth, *abused* — 

Reynard sobs in his *mind* — 

And Jason gasps and jerks and starts to spend, spurting helplessly — 

Spattering Reynard's throat — 

Coating it — 

Oh, fuck, he never wants to burn any other *way*, but — 

No, no —

He has a *whore* — 

He has a whore to put in — in his place — 

He's jerking and spilling and *shaking* — 

He pulls out enough to spurt in Reynard's *mouth* — 

Reynard whimpers again, slurps, licks and laps and Jason almost can't pull out the rest of the way, almost *can't* spend on that beautiful face — 

All over that beautiful *face* — 

*Treville* groans — and yanks Reynard up until he's seated on his lap — 

Reynard yelps and sobs and *drips* — 

Treville spreads his legs wider matter-of-factly — 

Reynard *moans* — and Treville starts to lick him clean with a half-shifted tongue. 

There remains an urge to stay back, to — 

Treville *looks* at him. 

Jason laughs at himself and shuffles into the messy, messy cuddle, licking the spend from the few places Treville's tongue can't reach. 

Reynard moans dazedly for them, half-hard cock pressed to Jason's belly. 

After a time, he wraps his long, shaking arms around Jason's body and pulls him closer, still. 

Treville rumbles. 

Jason... closes his eyes and *takes* it.


	9. I would like to go to that beauty salon.

When Treville wakes — with something of a start; he doesn't remember deciding to go to sleep — Reynard is snoring half on top of him... and Jason is sitting at his writing desk. There are gatherings of shadows at the corners of the room, seemingly waiting for an order — or an *urge* — and Jason... 

Jason has a bowl. 

Perhaps the same bowl from earlier. 

The part of Treville that wants to *hide* from whatever Jason is seeing — 

No. 

That part doesn't get to make decisions. 

(You *are* allowed to be kind to yourself from time to *time*, amant...) 

That's what I have brothers for, Treville says, and moves around a little until he can get a *good* hold on Reynard — 

Warm and tight and — 

And he's *had* this — 

He's had this with *all* of his brothers — sometimes all at once! — but... not like this. 

Just the feel of Reynard's soft cock pressed to his thigh — 

The knowledge that it's his to touch — 

(Whenever you wish, amant....) 

And whenever you wish — 

(Oh, no. *I* must wait for the permission of mon amant,) Jason says, turning back over his shoulder and grinning at Treville. 

Fuck, that was — that *is* — 

(*Deeply* arousing? I agree. I approve of your taste in brothers, so far.) 

Treville laughs softly. Jason. 

Jason hums. (You'll have to care for him —) 

I've — dreamed of that. Too. 

Jason makes a small sound. 

Yes? 

(You simply persist in making me eager to bend for you, amant,) Jason says, and his smile is wicked and knowing — but his cheeks are pink in the candlelight. 

Treville rumbles. 

(Yes — oh.) 

Mm? 

And then Reynard pushes up — "My head, it is very noisy all of a sudden," he says, and then settles against Treville again, kissing his chest. "You and Jason are speaking of magical things?" 

"*Mostly* we were speaking of how magical *you* are, Reynard," Jason says — 

"And of how much you destroy our *minds*," Treville says — 

"And how much I'd dearly love to have Treville treat me the way he was treating you —" 

"Wait, wait, he was not? He did not?" And Reynard sits up and pushes a hand back through his hair, looking back and forth between them. "How *was* notre meneur?" 

Treville grins and turns Reynard back to face him. "I bent for Jason." 

"You — you. *Vraiment*?"

Treville nods. "He had to beat me into it a bit —" 

"This does not surprise me! You are not —" 

Treville presses his thumb to Reynard's mouth. "I wanted it. I needed it. I just didn't know how to take it. Not like you. Not like..." Treville shakes his head and sits up, and pulls Reynard close again, pulls him into a straddle of his lap. "You've the bravery and strength to give yourself to another man without getting tied up in a million knots over it. *I* needed a lot more help." 

Reynard blinks and blinks and licks his lips — 

Beautiful *mouth* — 

Treville leans in and kisses him, *takes* his mouth — 

Reynard *moans* for him — 

*Bends* for him just that fast — 

It's this, brother. 

(I belong to *you*! I've belonged to you for *years* —) 

But you were still able to give yourself to Jason after hardly any time, at all... 

(I... he is our *brother* now —) 

That he is. But... even Kitos is going to have to *push* with me a little... 

Reynard *shoves* him back — "Non! You must not — you will make him *doubt*!" 

Treville inhales sharply. "I can't — I can't *do* that —" 

"Non, you cannot, you must — you must give yourself *wholly* to notre verrat, who wants to touch you so badly, and hold you — you know he *ached* to come with me today!" 

Treville growls — "I won't hesitate. I won't — I won't bloody *hesitate*." 

"Non?" 

"*No*." 

Reynard grins. "And not for Laurent? You will send him back to that office never to appear again —" 

"Oh — fuck —" 

And Jason hums. "I *believe* our meneur may have *less* difficulty when it comes to Laurent." 

Reynard blinks. "Ah, oui? This is so? Laurent is allowed liberties others are not?" 

"I..." Treville laughs ruefully. "A part of me is still his fourteen-year-old recruit."

Reynard's jaw drops — 

He blinks — 

"*Meneur*. That is filthy! You must let us all watch!" 

Treville *coughs* — 

And Jason laughs, loud and bright and — yes, it does roll the shadows back. 

Somewhat. Treville grins. "We'll just have to ask Laurent — and *Marie-Angelique* — about that." 

"What have I *told* you about being *reasonable*?" 

And the only *possible* thing to do is dart in to bite that bruised *throat* — 

Bite it hard and suck it *harder* — 

Reynard *whines* — 

Reaches up to cup Treville's head with his big, deft hands — 

So beautiful — 

So — but. Treville growls and pulls back. 

"Mm? Non? Meneur? What is it?" And Reynard is searching him, hungry, hungry to *serve* — 

Treville growls — and shakes his head — 

"*Meneur* —" 

"I need to know what Jason was doing while we were sleeping. I — *do* you sleep, Jason?" 

"I do not," Jason says, crossing his legs and smiling at them both fondly. "While Etrigan no longer habitually fills my dreams with nightmares, there are other creatures who can and will attack both of us should we rest. The risk is too great." 

Treville grunts — "I —" 

Jason waves a hand. "All is well *enough*... especially since I could spend *this* time positively marinating in both of your scents." 

Reynard moans — "Oh — *anytime*." 

Jason grins, surprised and warm — and bows his head. And then he turns back to Treville. "I've had some... *preliminary* ideas about how I might go about finding your son, amant —" 

Treville grunts — 

"I *don't* know if I will need help, or not. I don't know what sort of help I would need *if* I did need help. But Guillou gave us a very important piece of information when he told us that Amina wove countless spells of protection round Porthos and, when Etrigan sent that last bit of her vitality to him..." 

"It's a marker. It's —" Treville growls. "Please. Please let me —" 

"I will give you *every* piece of information I get as *soon* as I get it, amant," Jason says. "For now, I have the following: One, the balance of things is greatly upset in your favour, still, thanks to what you did this morning for me — and, in part, what you did in dispatching Guillou. Two, *our* search for Porthos is meant only for good, only to *right* the balance of things, and never to harm a single hair on his head —" 

"*Yes* —" 

"*This* will resonate with the spells Amina herself wove around him — I *believe*. At the very least, those spells will not *block* us." 

And that — Treville breathes. 

And nods. 

And slumps. 

Reynard cups his face and kisses his mouth softly — 

And shadows detach to pet him. 

He — needs it. Badly. 

He needs... more than that. 

Jason — inhales sharply. "I've... there's no more I can scry quite yet, and Etrigan will not need the use of this body for another several hours — I." 

And this is another hunger Treville can recognize now, another — 

He can recognize it for *himself*, and *have* it — 

Not push it *away* — 

(If you do, meneur, I will make you *hurt*,) Reynard says, and his eyes are glittering, just a little, even as he strokes Treville's face. 

Treville grins. "Please do. Every time," he says, and reaches for Jason — 

For his hot hand, so rough with callus, so strong — 

For his power and his *warmth* and his *love* — 

So close — 

"Yours," Jason says, kneeling behind him and holding him tight — 

Reynard presses even closer — 

Treville is *drowning* in red hair — 

"This is entirely on purpose, amant." 

"Ah, oui. For your birthday, we will braid it round your cock like a maypole." 

Treville *coughs* a laugh — 

"There may even be dancing children —" 

"He *does* like that sort of thing, frère. We have to be careful that he does not get distracted." 

"I —" 

"You're absolutely right, brother," Jason says, and kisses Treville's ear. "No children whatsoever. Only large, muscular, scarred men —" 

"For notre meneur to break *utterly* to his will, oui," Reynard says, and kisses his *other* ear.

"Oh, yes. A fine birthday for all."

Treville laughs hard. "Do I get a say —" 

"No." 

"Non." 

"*Absolutely* not," Jason says. 

"You have proven yourself very irresponsible, meneur," Reynard says, and licks him. "We must take you in hand!" 

"Before I take you in hand...?" 

"*Precisely*," Jason says, and squeezes him tight. 

And *that*... 

That is — 

"I've needed," Treville says, and shudders around the *lump* in his throat. 

"Meneur...?" 

"I've needed... to be taken in hand." 

Jason growls and the room gets darker and hotter and closer and — a lot more intimate. 

Reynard bites his earlobe. "I will remember this, cher. I will remember this, and tell nos frères — you will not get *away* from us again." 

Treville shudders and shudders and — "Please," he says, and closes his eyes. 

They hold him tighter. 

end.


End file.
